The Fool and the Huntress
by coreyjotunn
Summary: He's been running for ten years. On the day he tries to leave Rohan, he is captured by a Huntress. Rated M for future chapters/Edit to Chapter 3.
1. Chapter 1

_Pain. Pain and fire, great steam and water. Water so hot it burned. When he clawed his way from the Earth, great Trees had come to life and killed his brothers and their cousins. The made deep noise, and the Uruk-Hai, the fighting Uruk who knew no fear, screamed in pain and fear. He ran, like a coward tark or snaga, ran until the muscles in his legs burned, like the marks from fire and steam burned on his body. He had seen no others escape, and now he was alone. All alone, the fool was all alone. Ashbazg the fool._

He awoke with a start, the sun coming through the leaves to cover his dark body with spots of light. He grunted, squinting his eyes as he looked over the green land that lay before him. The tark that rode horses thought they owned this land and would ride roughshod all over the 'evil' ones that stepped foot on it, but it had been ten years since his home had fallen around him and the old man had been defeated, ten long years he had lived in this green land. The years had not been kind, but not all of them had been harsh. He had almost been rode to the ground by some horselord in the area that many of his brothers died in, and had heard the rough shouting voices of the dwarves as they also gave chase, but his long legs and knowledge had saved him, losing them in the trees. He had wanted to see it, needed to see it. So many of the Uruk-Hai had died there, and he had not been one of them. He just hadn't been sent out to war with his brothers, and so they had died and he had lived. Then the breaking of Isengard had happened.

Shivering from the memories and the ghost pains that ran down his scars, he stood and grabbed his pack. Made from the hides of various animals, it held his few meager possessions, mainly food and a few carved wooden blocks he had made in his downtime. It helped pass the winter, when he lived in the caves he found and tried to stay alive, making sure he didn't fall to the cold or any predators. The wargs of Isengard had survived, and their descendants roamed these hills. He had always liked the beasts, but to them he was nothing but a meal. His constant mistakes and gentle nature had earned him his name. The fool, the Ashbazg.

He wasn't a bad Uruk-Hai necessarily, he was just different. Frûshkul had protected him from the moment they had ripped him from the Earth. Something was… wrong with him at birth. The first sign had been his eyes. Most of the Uruks had yellow eyes at birth, a gift of their orc blood. His had been a light blue, and worse, his hair a dirty yellow like the horse lords, and so he had been marked for death. Frûshkul had stepped in and pointed to his great size and muscled body as a reason to let him live. The older one had taken him under his wing, and taught him how to be a fighting Urukl-hai. Though skilled with a sword, axe, and the shield, Ashbazg didn't want to kill, or rape, or burn peoples only homes to the ground. He felt no desire to do it.

He would fight when they tried to kill him, but he didn't go looking for battle. He had escaped Isengard and the pits once, and he had simply started walking. He had run into a couple of the yellow hairs, and he had smiled and waved, trying to be nice, and they had ran, the horror etched on their faces. He had walked on, slightly perturbed until he head the horse lords coming, many of them. Knowing they were death, he had started running back to Isengard, forgetting that he was not supposed to connect his Master to his kind. Luckily, he never made it all the way there.

He had come across a war band of his own, and told them the horse lords were coming, and they had ambushed the tark at the Fords of Isen. Later, he had learned that the tall man whose hair had blown in the wind, leading the men with a smile on his lips, had been the son of the King. He had seemed too young to lead men into battle, but he had fought bravely and his men had almost over run them. Big Ufthak had jumped on top of the body pile, his great two-handed sword Biter in his hands. He had struck with great might, rending mail and spilling blood, the red drops arcing in great sweeps. Finally, the man had fallen, and the Uruk-Hai left them at the fords, a not so subtle message to stay away from the Fords of Isen.

Ashbazg had paid dearly for that. His master had not been ready to move against Rohan, and the death of the prince may very well tip his hand that way. Ufthak and Frûshkul paid many bribes, slit quit a few throats, and had saved his life, stashing him in the belly of Isengard, where snaga smiths made swords and armor for the Uruk. Both of them, Frûshkul the only father figure he had ever know, and Ufthak, almost a older brother, had marched to the Battle of Helms Deep, snarling and singing as Ashbazg had watched them go. They most likely had been killed, for he had heard none survived the bright swords and dark trees that day. Still, his brothers had cracked the great wall, and he was proud of them for that.

Rising from his state of thought, the big Orc noticed that he had been walking the entire time, and seemed to be heading in a westerly direction. He mostly knew where he was, and as long as he did not go South, he would not reach the capital of Rohan. He could go slightly North, but he had been there before. West offered new possibilities. He had heard there was land out there that could grow good crops, and that it was vast. Not like Rohan, but vast enough an Uruk-Hai could reasonably live without fear of being caught and dying. He didn't know the first thing about farming. You just put the seeds in the ground and put water on them right? Besides, he wanted to create. He wanted to build, not destroy.

He might very well be Ashbazg the fool, but the fool was still living. That's all he wanted to do really. He wanted to live, and continue living until he grew old. To tell truth, there was no telling how long he could live. He had met a snaga from the Misty Mountains that was over 900 years old, but most Men seemed to live to around 80. He was technically 16 when he was pulled from the Earth, and two years later had been the Breaking, and then it was ten years since then. He felt great for a 28 year old. His muscles were still strong, his tusks still stood sharp and proud from his lower job. His damned blue eyes were still sharp, as was his hearing. For some reason, those ears failed him, and he never heard the movement, or the twang of a bowstring. He felt the sting of the arrow in his back, and he tried to roar.

The smoke and steam at Isengard had damaged his vocal chords, making it almost painful for him to talk at first, but over the years it had settled into a painful and deep rasp. Not very effective for the roar of a Uruk-Hai. Hitting the ground, he twitched in his fury. As his sight faded, he watched a pair of leather boots walk in his direction, and was treated to a closer look as one drew back and kicked him full in the face, knocking him into the cold dark of oblivion.

When he awoke, he was tied to a tree, his head pulled back uncomfortably and his throat exposed. He breathed harshly, panicking. He strained against his bonds, to no avail. The ropes were thick and the knots were good. He exhaled a great breath, and felt the tears begin to leak from the corners of his clenched eyelids. Another curse for him. Too much Man-blood they had said. Too much. All he wanted to do was live. That was it. He wanted to have a little home, not anything special, and he wanted to create things instead of destroy. He had survived in Rohan, the lands of his worst enemies, for ten years. Now he would die trying to leave them. He wanted to howl, to rage at the sky. Why must he die for what he was? He just wanted to live.

"Quit that, you piece of filth. I know it's not real. You won't when me over with any false tears."

Ashbazg shook his head. He was Uruk-Hai. He might be inferior to his brothers, but he was still one of them. His rasping growl rumbled up from his throat, like two stone walls rubbing together.

"Kill me. Or untie me and I will kill you. Either way. End it."

He couldn't see, his head pulled back as it was, couldn't see when it would come, but he knew it would. There was no surprise as he felt the cold of a blade at his neck. The haughty voice spoke again.

"Beg Orc. Beg as I'm sure your victims did. Beg like my mother did ten years ago. Tell me why you should live so that I can laugh at you and watch your blood pour."

Ashbazg spoke. "I shouldn't live. But I want to. More sun on my face. Want to walk in shau. Want… life."

The knife drew back.

"What is shau?"

Ashbazg struggled with how to explain.

"Water. Falls from the sky. Doesn't burn me. Always cool."

The voice snorted. "Rain. The word is rain, you beast."

He felt a sawing off the rope the held his head back, and suddenly, his head was free. The rest of his body remained bound, but he could at least see his captor, who would most likely become his executioner as well. It was a woman! Tall and thin, encased in leather armor from head to toe with a bow and quiver across her back. Her hair was long, and looked dark in the twilight, bound in a no-nonsense braid. She squatted and looked him in the eyes.

"I am Gléowyn of Rohan, and you are my prisoner. And trust me Orc, I will kill you when I decide I want to."

* * *

Gléowyn would not admit it, but even bound as he was he frightened her. The power in his body was obvious from the way he had strained against the ropes, ever bulging muscles shown in the dying light. His great neck had been strained, the veins pulsing with his life blood. She had held the knife to his throat. Why hadn't she killed him? The rain, she decided. An Orc who wanted to feel the rain, to walk in it. It was the strangest answer she had ever heard. She had tracked down and killed Orcs for the last eight years, but this one was different. He was one of the Uruk-Hai, most of which were supposed to have died at Helms Deep and the sack of Isengard. This one barely matched the description for those fearful beasts. She had never heard of one with blue eyes, and she bet that if his hair was washed out, it would be a dirty blonde. But his skin was tough and hide-like, black like the deep night and puckered with white scars. Some looked like the lash, while others looked like hot iron had been held to his flesh and seared and burned it. It was probably some Orc thing, maybe badges of honor. But those burns on his legs, they did not look like that. It looked like he had been dipped in boiling water and held there.

"Well Orc. I told you my name. Now what is yours."

He spoke, that deep rumble that seemed to come from the bowels of the Earth rumbling through his chest. "My name is Ashbazg."

She lifted an eyebrow. "What does that mean? Burner of cities? Killer of children?"

He snarled, harsh and feral. Like a wolf brought to bay by dogs. "It means the Fool. And what does your name mean. Bitch?"

Like lightning, her hand struck him across the face. Then it struck him again, and again, until his lip cut itself on his tusks, and her hand felt like it was going to break on his hard bones.

"Get something straight filth. You are alive by my good grace, though I don't know why. You do not insult me."

He spat at her feet, bloody phlegm mixing with the dirt of the ground.

"If you are going to talk to me like that, kill me. Done nothing to deserve that. Never burnt cities. Never killed children. Never."

Gléowyn laughed harshly, and couldn't stop laughing. An Orc trying to protest innocence. Like anyone would ever believe that. When she finally got herself under control, she looked into the hate filled eyes of the beast.

"Next I'm sure you'll be trying to convince me that you never killed."

He growled at her again. "I killed. When tark tried to kill me. When snaga tried to kill me in the pits. When other Uruk tried, I killed. Doesn't mean I liked it." He looked at her, those pale blues eyes seeming to glow with a kind of fire. "Because I am Uruk-Hai, tark will kill me whenever they find me. I will fight until I die. I hate it, but I have to. I may be a fool, but I am still fighting Uruk-Hai." The faint light of his eyes seemed magnified by pride.

She snorted at him. "Your kind fought real well at Helms Deep. I heard those cowards scream as they were rode down and the trees took them."

He roared in anger, thrashing at his bounds. Gléowyn jumped up, pulling her daggers as the ropes frayed at his struggles. What was this? Maybe he had been at Helms Deep.

"Stop now or I will kill you!"

He stopped and roared at her, as much as the low rumble could be called a roar.

"Ufthak and Frûshkul! Brother! Father! DIED THERE TARK BITCH! NOT COWARDS! WARRIORS! UFTHAK SLEW PRINCE OF ROHAN WITH ONLY HIS SWORD, NO ARMOR OTHER THAN LEATHER SHIRT AND PANTS! NO COWARDS!"

She looked taken back as his struggles ceased and he started crying again. At first, she had thought his tears fake, but now, she wasn't so sure. They were dark where the tears of Man where clear, and they were great big drops that ran in silent tracks down his black face.

"I thought that Uruk-Hai were pulled from the ground. They had no families."

Ashbazg choked back a sob as he looked at the woman of Rohan. "Mothers are raped by orcs. We are cut from them and put in the Earth. Months pass, in the Earth it is years. I was in the ground two months, and came out aged 16. Frûshkul taught me how to fight. How to hunt. How to live. He was 29 summers old. One of the oldest that marched. He was like a father. So he was my father. Ufthak was my friend. He saved my life when I escaped Isengard and was chased home by the horse lords. The Prince struck so many of us down. Only he stood, with the sword he called Biter, and brought him to bay. Killed him to save me. They both marched off to Helms Deep, and they are most likely dead. But they were no cowards tark. Not those two. No cowards and they did not scream in fear."

Gléowyn was confused. By all accounts, Orcs, even the Uruk-Hai of Saruman, weren't supposed to have emotions beyond rage and murderous thoughts. But here this one sat, crying. Not only crying, but mourning two of its own kind that it said had been his only family. In disgust, she also turned over the other piece of information he had given her. The women who made them were raped, and they were cut out before their time. So those women most likely died in that process. No Uruk had a chance to know their mother. All their mothers were dead. She made a choice, then and there. Her father had always told her to trust her instincts, and they would never lead her wrong. Walking to the back of the tree, she took a deep breath and began to saw through the ropes.

* * *

He had not seen her, his eyes were still closed due to his shame. He was flawed, Uruk-Hai did not cry. This proved what they all said about him. He was too much of Man, not enough of his Orc blood. He doubted that Ufthak and Frûshkul would have cried over him. They most likely would have thought of him as good riddance, and been happy they no longer had to watch out for him constantly. No Uruk-Hai would have cried for him. They had not cried for any other of his brothers that had died, even though he had cried deep in the pits alone. The snaga had not ridiculed him like his brothers did. They mourned their brothers that died, and they mourned other things to. The talked of their wives and pups, the dark places under the Misty Mountains where they had their cities and where they lived. Others, the stronger ones who could stand pale sun, talked of the settlements on the side of the mountains, where they lived in the fresh air.

They told him of the yellowhairs that attacked any Orc settlement, how they had to fade into the mountains and lick their wounds, mourning the dead. They had told him how they loved, how they married, how they had families. They had shown him their tattoos, the clan markings that said who they were. He even had his own tattoo, given to him by one of the forge orcs, a swirl of yellow ink that stood out on the black skin of his chest. They had told him that it represented what he could do. He was of their blood, but he had Man blood as well. He could walk in the sun, so they had tattooed the sun on his chest.

He felt the ropes give away and looked up. The woman stood before him, a warrior woman. He had never seen any, but she was one definitely. She stood defiant and strong in front of him, so much smaller but not afraid. He looked at her, the question plain on his brutish face.

"If you try to touch me beast, you will die. But I will let you live for now. You are still my prisoner, and I will escort you out of the lands of Rohan and into other lands and you will be rid of me when you build you a home and I can guarantee that you will not slaughter and raid innocents. Do you understand?"

Ashbazg bowed his head, the words rumbling through the thick emotions of his chest.

"My lady."


	2. Run, Run away Or not

"Do I have to be tied?"

"Yes. Until I decide you are trustworthy, you're going to be tied up."

"So my hands will be tied forever?"

The strawhead flashed a smile at him, but there was no mirth in it. It was cold like ice. "You're finally getting it Beast."

Ashbazg growled. "I told you. My name is not Beast."

Gléowyn smirked and kept walking. He looked like a beast, his voice sounded like a beast, and he growled like one. He even slept like a beast, his feet twitching in his sleep and random growls coming from his mouth while he slept. He kept saying the word ghaash and ufum over and over, almost whimpering when he did. She didn't speak that Black Tongue, but even she could tell that the words held some hold over him.

"Orc. What does ghaash ufum mean?"

Ashbazg growled. "I am not an Orc. I am Uruk-Hai. I wouldn't call you Gondor. Ghaash means fire. Ufum means fear. Why do you want to know?"

Gléowyn kept her eyes on the path and kept walking. "Because you kept muttering those words in your sleep and kept me awake, _Orc. _What's the matter? Afraid of fire? Wouldn't know it by how many your filthy kind started in the Westfold."

She could almost hear his jaw creaking as he struggled to keep his mouth shut and not say anything. At the end of the day, his life was still in her hands. She had tied his hands together behind his back, and hobbled his legs like a horse. He could walk, but it would slow him down from running so badly that unless he had already killed her, she would be able to shoot him down easily. Or she would just use more of that poison on him so that he would be paralyzed and torture him. He did not relish either of those prospects. She was trying to set what she most likely felt was a punishing pace, but it merely bored him. He was Uruk-Hai, and the stamina of his breed was legendary. He could walk for days and fight when he arrived at where he was going. She was Rohan though, and her own pace was telling on her. Her hair, which was actually red and not dark like he had thought last night, was plastered to her sweating forehead and her leather armor was beginning to turn dark from perspiration. Ashbazg simply keep walking. An Uruk did not stop until he was told to stop, and the only exception was if there was a fight to be had.

Gléowyn felt the aches in her legs and back. They had been walking since early dawn, and it was well past afternoon. The hobbits she had met at Helms Deep would have been calling for either second lunch or afternoon tea by now. They had sat with the children while the monsters screamed and shook the walls, telling them stories of green fields and singing strange songs of the Halfling folk. It had calmed many of them, and she had never forgotten it. She had been told later that they had gone on with the Kings to Mordor and fought at the battle, and another of their kind had destroyed the One Ring! If she kept walking, she would cross the mountains and be able to travel to their land, and she could try to find the two she had met. It would be nice to see them again.

"Where do you plan on going Orc? Some mountain cave?"

Ashbazg snorted. "Not a cave. I want green land, where I can make things. Not destroy."

She stopped and started laughing. And then she kept laughing.

"By Eorl the Young, what do you know of making things? All you know how to do is destroy them! It's what you're bred to do. Go live in a cave with the other orcs, live there, die there."

"I can't."

"Oh? What no doubt wonderful reason do you have for that?"

He finally snapped and stopped walking, staring at her. Those damnable blue eyes seemed to burn right through here, and she felt bad for making fun of him as much as she was. Other than calling her a bitch, he really had shown pretty good restraint from her constant jibes. She put her tough face on and tried to stare him down. There was too much pain and anger in those eyes for her to be able to do it. She looked to the side.

"Well Orc? Why not?"

Ashbazg growled. "My name is Ashbazg, you stupid tark. Not Orc. Not beast. Not filth, animal, or darkie. If you cannot say my name, then call me Ash. I cannot live in a cave because many of the smaller Orc tribes hate my kind. The only ones that were ever kind to me were the forge Orcs. And… I cannot see in the dark like a true Orc. I would be blind in the caves and tunnels. Does that satisfy you? Because I do not want to miss the sun on my face. There are no flowers that I enjoy the smell of in the mountain holes. I would rather die out here, under the sky, than to die in some cave where my spirit will be trapped."

His last sentence caught her interest. "Where do you think your spirit goes when you die?"

He shrugged and started walking, moving past her and forging ahead. She scowled at his back and walked to catch up. "I asked you a question Or- Ash. Where do you think your spirit goes when you die?"

He didn't even look over his shoulder. "It goes to hell."

She couldn't see the tears that streamed down his face. He knew his very life was an affront to everyone. The Orcs despised his Man blood. The Men refused to accept that he had Man blood in him. Three years ago he had met a Wizard like the master, except this one wore brown and was well loved by the creatures of the woods. He had explained to Ashbazg why no one would accept him. He had told him of the great corruption of the elves to create Orcs, and how Ashbazg was a thrice made corruption, elf corrupted to Orc and Orc corrupted with the blood of Men. He was abhorrent in ever eye, and the flaws he had made him as bad in the eyes of his own kind. He would never be accepted. But no one understood what he wanted. He didn't want to become a member of a community; he didn't want to be accepted. He wanted to live his own life, until he died. He would gladly be alone forever if he could just live for a little longer. Just a little longer.

Gléowyn followed the Orc, troubled by his words. It wasn't what he had aid, it was the finality with which he had said it. Like there was no other options for him, as if that was the only choice he had.

"Your kind doesn't go to the halls of Mandos?"

"Why would we? We are monsters. I'm a filthy beast, remember?"

Any of her other attempts at conversation were met with grunts. Finally, she was done. She just couldn't keep up the pace they had been walking at, and needed to call it a day. Her legs screamed with the exertion. She was used to long treks and hikes, but she had pushed herself harder than usual for a greater distance and speed, and it hadn't even done its job of tiring the Uruk. He looked like he could still walk for another six or seven hours easily, and the only discomfort he was showing was the harsh ropes had rubbed on his wrists and ankles. Sighing, she sank down in front of a tree and watched as he sat across from her. She took a long drink from her water skin, and then tossed it to the Orc. He carefull lifted it, squeezing the water out so it didn't touch his lips.

She laughed at that. "What's wrong? Afraid you'll catch something?"

"Don't want to make it so you won't drink from this skin because I touched it."

Gléowyn felt uncomfortable for a moment. Was she really being that vile to him? Granted, he was an Uruk-Hai, and they were the slaughterers of Men. But this one was different. He was emotional, and he didn't seem to have many violent tendencies. To be honest, every time he had become angry, it was in response to something she had said to him. Other than that, he was pretty quiet. She had noticed him looking at the plants and animals when he could, those most of the animals had turned and fled at the sight of the two tramping through the woods. If she looked at his eyes, and just his eyes, it was almost easier to assume he was one of the wild men that had always fought with the Rohirrim. But when you looked at his tusks, the black skin, the talons on his fingers, that image was ruined. No matter how nice he seemed, he was still a beast. One that bore watching, for she knew he would betray her to his baser instincts eventually.

She was pulled from her thoughts by his voice.

"Ghaash-hair. I need you to release me."

She scowled at him. "My name is Gléowyn, not whatever you said. And no chance."

He stood to his full height, which was an intimidating seven feet. "I need to bathe. There is water over there. I am not content to sit here and smell like this."

She huffed and rose. "You're not getting off that easy."

She checked the pool. It was wide, easily ten feet from one side to the other, and looked to be around eight feet deep in the middle. Next to the bank it looked a more manageable three feet. She removed another piece of rope and tied it around the tree, holding the loose end.

"Here's the deal. You get the ropes taken off if I tie this around your neck so you don't run away. After you get in the water, I stay here and make sure that you don't untie the rope. Understand?"

The big Uruk growled his agreement. She made him bend down and tied the rope around his muscular neck. She removed the ropes from his wrists and ankles, trying not to wince as she looked at the raw and oozing flesh. Maybe she had tied it just a little too tight. She walked to the other side of the tree so she wouldn't have to see him disrobe and waited to hear him get into the water. Once she had made sure he was in, she came around the tree to keep him under watch, her daggers loose in their hip sheaths. He seemed scared of the deep water. He stayed in the water that wasn't deeper than his navel, and scrubbed at himself with his hands. She watched as he washed his long hair, dipping it in the water and clawing at his scalp. She noted the tattoos that ran his body. A yellow swirl dominated the center of his chest, with white swirls, dots, and dashes running in other spots. Tribal Markings? Kill counts? She guessed that the numbers burned into his left shoulder stated something and decided to ask him later.

He grabbed his clothing from the bank and dunked it in the water, rubbing it with a rock she guessed he got from the bottom of the pool. Apparently satisfied, he laid them out on the bank for the last bit of sunlight to catch. She briefly wondered why he hadn't washed the undergarment he had been wearing. Then he looked at her.

"Are you going to turn around so I can get out of the water or stare some more?"

She decided to be spiteful.

"Maybe I want to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't brain me with a rock when I'm not looking."

Ashbazg shrugged and climbed out of the pound, the clear water sparkling as it fell off his ebony skin. He kept his hands over his privates so she wouldn't see, but she caught a glimpse between his fingers. It was big, even soft. It would probably be truly large when excited. She stopped her thoughts. No telling how many women got to see that by force. Screaming women that tried to kill themselves like the ones they brought into Helms Deep and had to keep an eye on. She tied his hands and hobbled him again, walking back to camp with him. She took the rope from the tree and tied him to another, ignoring his look.

"This way, you can't get at anything while I take my bath, or when I sleep tonight."

With that being said, she walked back to the pond. She checked carefully to make sure he couldn't see, and when she was satisfied, she stripped off her dirty leathers and sank into the water. Which was shockingly cold. The damn Uruk had made it look like it was warm and fine, but it was ice cold. By the time she had washed her hair, her teeth were chattering and she was sure her lips were blue. Getting out and putting the spare clothes she had brought on, she walked back to camp, shivering.

"B-b-b-b-b-bastard. W-w-w-w-why d-d-didn't you t-t-tell me it was c-c-c-cold?"

Ashbazg looked at her. "Because it didn't feel cold to me?"

"I-i-i-mpossible."

As she sat down, Gléowyn added a few more sticks to the meager fire, trying to coax more warmth from it for her limbs.

"Ghaash-hair. Get the furs out of my pack. Warm you up."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm fine."

"Your lips are blue. And you're shaking. If you get sick, I will die because I am tied up. You will die because I cannot care for you if you are sick. Nor could I hunt for food. Get the furs and cover yourself."

Reluctantly, she did so. The furs weren't luxurious or anything like that, but the wolf furs would keep her warm. Wrapping her legs and hands in them, she sat by her bedroll, eventually laying on it and drifting off to sleep.

Ashbazg was ready. Reaching into his mouth, he pulled the sharp edged rock he had found in the pool and began to saw away at the ropes that bound his hands. With a snapping noise, the rope finally fell away, and he was free to use his sharp nails to pick away at the knots that bound his feet and his body to the tree. Freedom! He was free of the ropes of the evil Ghaash-hair. He didn't gather his bag; there was nothing left in it now. He just ran, dodging the branches he could see. It was still twilight, so even his useless eyes could see well enough to get him away. Then he smelt it. He smelt... man flesh. Like the men the Master had fight for him, and used their women for breeding. He crept forward and almost stepped into their camp, five men ranging from 20 to 40. He could hear their conversation, but couldn't understand their tongue. Then he caught the words that sounded like the Common tongue.

"_Rohan… Woman..."_ He watched the man who had mention a woman grab his crotch and laugh, his friends joining in. Ashbazg was a fool, but even he knew what that meant. Smirking, he began to walk away. That would teach her a lesson about the way she treated people. He stopped as he heard a voice in the back of his head, and it sounded like the brown Wizard he had met in the wilds.

_Ashbazg! If you let those men harm her, you are as guilty of what they do as if you had done it yourself. And do not forget, this will only reinforce the opinions of people about your race. You would leave a sick and defenseless woman on her own against five armed men? For shame Ashbazg. Maybe I was wrong to help you. _

Ashbazg froze. He had not heard a Voice like that since the death of the Master. While the Masters voice was harsh and yelling, this voice whispered and was soft. It did not order him; it explained to him why what he was doing was wrong. With horror on his features, Ashbazg remembered the screams from the breeding pits as the slave women were bred by other Uruks. The Snaga had told him that it was wrong, better to kill than that. Of course, some had said that it was the best part of raiding, but others, the ones who influenced him, had disagreed. He had no weapons, what could he do. A large tree branch fixed the problem. Ashbazg set his feet and his jaw, pulling it with great force and the strength of his people. With a great thunder-crack, the branch was free. He now held 5 feet of solid oak in his hands, ad he would go to war with it.

Racing back the way he came, he ehard the first screams. They were not the screams of the ghaash-hair, but the screams of a man. Bursting into the campsite, he saw one of the wild men down, bleeding from dagger cuts to his neck and chest, his screams becoming gurgles as blood filled his throat and the light left his eyes. She stood strong with her back to the tree, fighting off the tentative stabs of their crude spears with the steel daggers she carried. As he watched, one of the attackers suddenly lunged forward, the stone spear tip stabbing into the soft meat above her hip. With a cry of pain and anger, she cut through the haft, the flint still buried in her flesh.

With a roar, Ashbazg joined the fray, swinging his great club into the closest head, watching as the side of it cracked inwards, blood spraying into the air. The man fell to the ground and did not rise. Not one to stop and think of what he had just done, he kept swinging, his muscular frame delivering devastating blows to the attackers. Gléowyn had pulled the spear from her side, and out of the corner of his yes he watched her drive both the daggers hilt deep into a man's chest, killing him. The final Dunelending broke, running through the woods. He would later regal his tribe with tales of a Uruk-hai and a flame-haired warrior maiden killing the others with nothing but two knives and a log, and was eventually killed for his assumed lunacy.

Ashbazg stood, panting, drenched with sweat, his muscles screaming and his senses tingling with what had just happened. Out of the corner of his eyes, he say the woman advance on his, daggers still out. He turned and lifted the log to his shoulder.

"Do not do something you will regret Gléowyn."

She stared at him. She had told him her name, but this was the first time he had used it. And he looked so the beast now. Covered in blood, his ostrils flared, the pupils of his eyes dilated, the whites shot through with veiny streaks of red. His voice had taken on an even rougher quality, and the blood dripped from the head of the tree branch he had wielded so efficiently.

"How did you get loose?"

He stared at her. "A rock. And then I ran, to get away from you. I found these men and I almost continued but… something brought me back. And you're bleeding."

With a mention, the pain of the wound ripped through her and she grabbed at her side, cursing. "Son of a whore that feels terrible."

Ashbazg grunted. He walked off a ways, and returned with a clump of tree moss. Batting her hands out of the way, he stuffed the most against and a little into the cut, ripping the sleeve from the shirt he wore to make a bandage. "Here. This will help."

Gléowyn looked at him. "What's this? Uruk field craft lessons?"

Ashbazg snorted. "Uruk field craft involves alcohol and fire. I learned this from the Brown Wizard."

"The who?"

"He was a Wizard, dressed in brown. Animals liked him. He taught me a few things to survive. How else do you expect an Uruk to survive this long in the wilds of Rohan? We weren't taught anything. Not how to survive on our own, how to make food, nothing. Just how to fight and kill."

Gléowyn sat in silence as he finished bandaging her wound. By now, the stench of death was over powering. "I suggest we find a new camp."

The big Uruk nodded and grabbed another stick, wrapping the end with the torn off sleve from his other arm to create a torch. Gléowyn searched the bodies of the Dunelendings, looking for anything worthwhile. There was no food, but there were two extra water skins that she gladly took. As they left the campsite, they wandered in a general west direction, finally finding another clearing and stopping there. As they sat there packs down and prepared the area, Gléowyn noticed the dark black bloodstain that ran from the Uruks back and down his leg.

"You're hurt!"

"I know."

She huffed angrily. "Take your shirt off and lay down so I can look at it."

Ashbazg stiffly complied, the wound make the motions of lifting a shirt off painful. She looked it over in the firelight. The cut wasn't deep, but it ran down from the middle of his back to just over his left hip. Tsk-ing, she washed the wound. Great white scars ran across his back, some thick and raised and others sharp and thin. There were even a couple that were depressions in the flesh, where skin and tissue had been ripped away. And those deep burns on his shoulder.

"What do the numbers mean?"

Ashbazg grunted. "Five for fifth harvest of the year, the two means second legion, and the small three means third company."

"And the tattoos?"

He chuckled. "Given to me by the smaller orcs, the ones from the mountains. They could mean anything, but I chose them for what was told to me."

"Where you anything special? A commander or a leader?"

His voice was muffled. "I was a coward."

The silence after that was strained. As she sewed the wound shut, she ventured another question.

"Why are you afraid of fire and water?"

His back tensed and she could see the smaller hairs on his neck rise.

"I was there when the tree lords came and broke Isengard. Down in the pits, so far down we never saw the sun or moon. Down with the forge orcs, snaga from the mountains who had helped me since I had to hide. The Isen… they broke the dam that held the Isen back and it poured into the pits, and the fires and heat down there made it hot. That's why I have some of these scars. So many… so many drowned, or boiled alive. I managed to swim and fight and kick my way to the top. I crawled away like the coward I was, and then I hid until I could walk again. I had not eaten in so long I could count my ribs and back bones. As far as I know… the men I knew are dead. My friends most likely died at Helms Deep. I am alone."

Gléowyn rose, and watched as he stood as well, towering over her. "Thank you for your help, Gléowyn."

She nodded. "You are welcome Ashbazg… If you promise not to run away, I will not try to tie you again."

He chuckled sadly, pain in his eyes. "where would I even go?"


	3. Thinking in the Darkness

Her night was filled with tossing and turning, his words echoing in her head. "Where would I even go?" Where would he go? He sat with his back to a tree, snoring like thunder, his mouth open. If she didn't look at him, he sounded like a Rider sleeping off his mead beside the fire. But he wasn't. He wasn't a man. He was an Orc. He was evil, a foul beast who feed on the weak and killed the helpless. Except… he wasn't. He had came back and saved her. Oh, she would have killed a few more. But they would have got her in the end, and she could have become one of those broken things that screamed and shook when a man passed her. She had seen many women come back from it, harder and stronger, but changed. She was afraid of which one she would have become.

She heard his snoring change to a sob, and she looked across the camp at him. Once again, he started twitching and whining in his sleep, mumbling the words again. She remembered the burns on his back, the way the flesh of his legs looked almost melted, and what he had said about what it had been like down there, in the bottoms where no light shone. How horrible it must have been for him. Not able to see in the dark, so when the waters put out the torches and fires, he would have been blinded. Nothing but boiling water and steam as he tried to swim out, kicking and pushing his way through. All it would have taken was one wrong turn, one wrong kick, and he could be stuck, doomed to drown and burn.

And all his friends had died he said. Everyone in the pits had drowned, so that meant the forge Orcs, as he called them, had drowned as well. That meant he had the Uruk-Hai he had seen as his father and brother taken from him by Rohan, and all the ones that acted as extended family taken from his as well, by the forces of the last Alliance. She realized why she was confused. Why wasn't he angry? She would be. She would be furious, and would want to kill as many of her enemy as she could possibly kill. He was… calm about it. Accepting even. He mourned his dead, but he acted as if it was the way of the world. But when she thought more about it, that's what it was. It was the way of the world, and the only way it had ever been. Since as far as they could tell the tales of, the races of Man, Elf, and Dwarf had killed and slaughtered the races of Orc, Goblin, and Troll. Those three races had started it though! They had been part of the enemy, and had attacked and killed innocents. But… what if they hadn't? What if they had been attacked because they were different? She had seen that often enough, especially with the races of Men who had came from the South and the Far East lately. Their differences had almost lead to open war a few times. And that was the race of Men, the same race. What would men do to something that was not their race, which was so different from them? The Dwarves were the same, and the Elves hated the twisted creatures that Orcs were.

She was so wrapped up in thought that she didn't notice she was chewing on the end of her braid. A habit picked up from her father as a child. Her Da… how she missed him sometimes. He had fallen at the walls of Gondor, fighting for his king, for Rohan, and the race of Men. How many Orcs had he killed that day? Knowing her Da, many. How many had Ash killed in his time? He said he only fought to defend himself. Why would he have to defend himself from those that were just like him? She remembered the descriptions of the Uruk-Hai that had destroyed her village. Black as night, wicked yellow eyes, matted black hair. Ash had dark skin, but his eyes were blue and his hair, now that it was clean, was blonde. Maybe it was because he was different. They had attacked him for his difference, just like Men would attack him now.

_He may be different, but he's still an Orc. Don't forget it, or you'll be raped and dead in a heartbeat. _The voice sounded just like her mothers. She missed her ma so much. She had been so strong, and had given her daughter the best advice she could. When she had realized that she didn't have the perfect daughter to be a lady that she wanted, she had washed her hands and turned her over to her father to be a shield maiden. Rohan taught its women to fight, but then expected them not to, as evidenced by the amount of times she had gotten in trouble for thrashing a village boy for pulling her hair. Gléowyn thought that her mother had never forgiven her for that. Her mother had wanted a daughter that she could pamper, and braid her hair, and put in pretty dresses. That was about as far away from the daughter she had received as they could be.

Gléowyn liked shooting her bow, and riding horses as fast as she could across the wide open plains. Not wearing dresses and learning how to be proper. Now she wished she had done more of what her mother wanted. Had spent more time with her, told her she loved her more. She felt the sobs clench her throat, trying to come up. Trying to make themselves known. Gléowyn clamped them down, stuffing them back into her heart with a growl of rage. She was a warrior, a hunter, a killer. She would not cry. She would not cry like a child, like a weakling. She would not marry, or love, or raise children. She would hunt orc until the end of her life, or until she felt that the loss of her family was avenged. There was no choice in the matter. She had made an oath to Bema. She remembered that day, like it had been just yesterday, not years ago.

* * *

_She could feel something here. Something powerful, something ancient. From before Rohan, before Gondor. Before this age and many before. She felt wild and untamed, like a predator but also like prey. She could feel a something huge at the edge of her thoughts, a stalking wolf. All of the sudden she felt more like a rabbit trapped in it's hole by something, and her only choice was to bolt, to run, to get away before it ate her up and destroyed her. _

_She would not run! She would not be made prey by whatever was out there! She was a hunter, and nothing would scare her. She respected the wilds, loved the wilds, but she would not be scared by them. _

_She looked down at what she had brought. An arrow, a horn of mead, a fresh kill of a doe. She pulled the dagger from her belt and made a slash across her hand. Gripping it in a fist, she dripped her blood first on the arrow, then on the kill, and then into the mead. She called out, a sudden gust of wind almost stealing her breath and voice from her. _

_"Bema! Hear me! I come to you, to make sacred oath! The oath of a huntress! Would you hear me?"_

_Suddenly, it all went quiet. Like the woods were waiting with baited breath, a thousand animals, prey and predator alike, holding it in until she spoke. _

_"I give my blood, and my kill to you! I only ask that you guide me, make me swift, make my arrows true, as I hunt my prey! I hunt the twisted ones, the corrupt, the ones who murder all! I hunt the Orcs! Will you grant me this?"_

_She heard no answer. No animal came to her and gave her a sign, no wolves came and devoured her. She didn't know what to do. A oath was an oath, and she would swear it, even if he did not show her a sign he accepted. _

_"That is my oath Bema! That as a huntress, I will hunt, and I will kill, until the Orcs are gone from this world or I am!"_

_With that, she seized the horn and gulped it down, the sweet taste of mead mixing with the copper taste of her own blood. _

_"It's done!" _

_A sighing wind blew across the clearing, shaking the boughs of the trees as the animal noise started back up. She couldn't tell if that was a sign or not, but her oath was made. And she would keep it._

* * *

__Gléowyn looked down and rubbed her hand where she knew the thin scar was. Did this violate the oath she had made to Bema? Ash wasn't technically an Orc though. He was an Uruk-Hai, a mixed breed. There was no telling if this violated the oath or not. She would find out soon enough, most like.


	4. Dreaming

"_FOOL! Where are you Fool? I will find you, and I will have you!"_

_Ash whimpered and tried to run. Skrithûrz grabbed him by the shoulder and shook his head. _

"_No Ashbazg. Not today. He will not touch you today." A few of the other Orcs growled in agreement. Garmog hobbled over to him, his bruised and bloody body making Ashbazg hurt in his chest. _

"_You have protected us. We will protect you." _

_Ashbazg hadn't even healed from his last whipping yet. His back still leaked blood whenever he moved to fast or stretched too far. And now Tûzantar was looking for him. He would find him. He had his scent, and would not be denied his fun. The small Orcs said they would protect him. How? Tûzantar was a big Uruk, almost the size of a berserker. They couldn't stop him. He could feel the fear uncoiling in his belly, rising to choke him. He started breathing harder. _

"_Peace Ashbazg. We will stop him."_

_The Tûzantar came around the corner. He spotted Ashbazg and his tongue lolled from his mouth like a Warg. He never used Ashbazg for the things other Uruks tried. He just liked to beat him and humiliate him, and that was what got Tûzantar off. He would beat Ashbazg bloody and half-dead, and then play with himself over his victim. He did it with others as well. He was too big to take alone, and he had many who would fight for him. Now he had found his prey, and would want it. _

_He purred, the evil in his voice making the skin crawl. "Come come Fool. I know you enjoy our little fun together. In fact, I would say you run just to make me beat you harder in my anger. Is that why you run and fight back? To please me more?" he groped himself, his excitement becoming apparent to all who could see him. _

_Durgaz stood and looked at the giant Uruk. Short and bandy legged; Durgaz looked like something Tûzantar would eat for dinner. He held a short curved blade in his hand, and there was no fear on his face as his yellow eyes glared balefully on the big Uruk. _

"_You will not touch Ashbazg. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never again will you touch him." _

_Tûzantar laughed and reached out to grab Durgaz, who moved faster than most would believe the Orc to do. Tûzantar looked down in disbelief at the end of his arm. Were there was once a hand and a wrist; there was nothing but a bleeding stump. He did not like this. He loved to give pain, but did not like to receive it. He turned to run, but these Orcs of the Misty Mountains knew the score. If he ran, then he would bring down the wrath of the Uruk-Hai upon them, and maybe even the White Hand. But if he never made it back to the sleeping barracks… _

_The thick black arrows that Orcs favored peppered his body. Able to see in the dark, the boworcs had hidden in the shadows, waiting for the signal. That signal had been the taking of his hand. Ashbazg still shook, as much with fear as confusion, and finally elation. He was dead. His tormentor was finally dead, and he would be free. He watched as Durgaz and Skrithûrz lifted the dead body and drug it to the forge fires, others following behind the brush dirt over the bloody stains. They dropped it in, and Ashbazg felt like crying with joy as it burned. _

"_I told you my friend. We would protect you today, as you protected me. As you have protected others from the Uruk-Hai. I am sorry that we have not protected you sooner." _

_Garmog inched his body down the wall to ease the pain, finally coming to a rest beside Ashbazg. His nose broke, one of his tusks cracked, and numerous other injuries, the old Orc was in pain. He had gone to the barracks two days ago to deliver swords, and they had set upon him after he had made the delivery. The Uruks thought the snaga easy prey, a chance for them to get their cocks wet without having to fight as hard. The wily old Orc had killed two before the Uruks became more interested in beating him to death than raping him. When Durgaz had awoken Ashbazg to tell him, he had run to the barracks. He knew in his heart that something bad was happening. _

_He had leapt from the doorway into the middle of the beating, his claws and teeth extracting terrible vengeance. He was not an exceptional fighter, but threaten his friends, no more than that, his family, and he would fight like a tark hero from the stories. He had tore through the surprised Uruks, tore them apart. He had got them off of Garmog, held them off long enough for the Orc to run. Then his punishment came. They had tied him to the whipping post, and the entire barracks had at him with the whip. A berserker had held it and brought his strength to bear, and his strike had laid Ashbazg open to the bone. After the whipping, they had left him tied to the post. One by one, they had fallen asleep until they were all out and he still stood tied to the post, his blood dripping down to the floor. They must have more entertainment planned for him when they woke up, otherwise they would have just eaten him. _

_That wasn't to be his fate though. Durzag and a nameless Orc had slunk through the sleeping bodies and had cut him down from the post and had brought him back to his home. And now his biggest tormentor was dead, and he was safe once again. Well, as safe as one could be in this hell of Isengard. He looked to his side to find Garmog rising with the help of Bagûrz and Akrûrz. He beckoned to Ashbazg, and he clawed his way to his feet and followed. They stopped in the mountain Orcs version of a central chamber, an area like they would have back home where they would get together and tale tales and enjoy themselves before going to their homes. Kraibag, the Orc who handles all of the tattooing, stood there with his tools, but a wooden stool. It was directly in the middle of the chamber, and all the Misty Mountain Orcs were gathered there. _

_These Orcs were different than the Goblins of the same Mountains. They were different than the Orcs of Moria, and had what was considered strange ways. The Moria Orcs called them 'mannish', too man like by half. These Orcs had laws, rules that helped their lives. They had systems, they had codes of honor and respect. Much too mannish by half. They had been called though, and the hold the Dark Lord held on them, the taint that had allowed the dark forces to control them that ran in their blood, had forced them to abandon home and wife, child and hearth, to come here and do the work demanded of them. They had brought their ways with them, and had hidden them from Saruman, in case he would destroy them for it. One tradition was about to be put in place now, and they would observe it. Garmog called out to those assembled, his voice rough from the pain of his injuries. _

"_I, Garmog, of the Shattered Tooth clan, call this assembly of the tribes together. I put forth to accept Ashbazg, son of the Uruk-Hai and woman of Rohan, as a member of the Shattered Tooth Clan. What say the others?"_

_Ashbazg was startled. Make him a clan member? They had explained how important becoming a clan member was. What it meant to be a part of a clan. His heart felt like it was going to rip from his chest with longing at what that would be life. He tried to focus on what the others said. They could force him to not be accepted. They went around a circle, seven Clan leaders in attendance to say their piece._

"_I, Skrithûrz, of the Stone Knife Clan, say he cannot become a Shattered Tooth." _

_Ashbazg felt hurt in his heart. Skrithûrz was his friend. How could he do this to him?  
_

"_Instead, I say that Ashbazg the Uruk-hai becomes a member of the Stone Knife Clan."_

_Ashbazgs head was spinning. What would even happen now? He had no idea, had never heard of this, and never got this far in his talks with them. _

"_I, Durgaz, of the Cave Fish clan, cannot allow him to become either Shattered Tooth or Stone Knife. I say, he must become Cave Fish." _

_And so it went, around the circle. Falling Rock, Hidden Moon, Rising Axe, Bloody Maw, and Broken Bones Clans all stated that he could not join the other, but would have him join theirs. Garmog nodded and looked to an elderly Orc. While many Orcs were old, this one was considered ancient. He had forgotten when he was born, but he knew he had lived at least one thousand summers. Aarshlût, the dawn-killer he was called. He was their shaman, their magic. The collected thoughts and dreams of the Misty Mountain Orc Clans, he had traveled with them to make sure they had continued to be Misty Mountain Orcs, and not reverted to be like any of their rabid cousins. _

"_Ancient One, the eight clans in attendance have claimed the right to ask this one to join their clan. What must we do?"_

_Aarshlût looked upon Ashbazg, his voice, still strong if only slightly raspier than his younger years. _

"_I see… great confusion young one. You know not what to do. But your heart… your heart it yearns for this. You wish to be a member of a clan, you wish to be one of us, to have a family who cares and protects like we have done since you came down to us. You have spilled the blood of others like you to protect us. You have killed others like you to protect the lives of us. You have had horrible things done to you to spare the indecency of it being done to one of us. How could a Clan not want you as a member? Look at me Ashbazg." _

_The Uruk looked up to the old Orc. His eyes, sunken in the pits of his face, glowed kindly at him. Aarshlût looked down at this face, the young face for all the appearance of being grown. He knew nothing of the world, nothing of being an Orc. Thank those that had went before that he had come to them, not the Moria Orcs or the ones from the Black Mountains around Mordor. He was a child. And as everyone knew, it took more than one person; it took a village to raise a child. _

"_I have made my choice. Ashbazg will either be accepted as a member of all of the Clans who have asked he join or I will take him as a member of Dawn-Killer. I am the only member of it left to this world, and I would not deny him family besides myself. Choose."_

_The Clan Chiefs agreed to the wisdom of Aarshlût, as they always did. Ashbazg was lead to the stool, where his wounds were stitched or packed with herbs to heal them, and Kraibag set to his work. _

_When he finished, the white ink shown out against the dark skin of Ashbazg. The stone knife, the broken bones, the shattering tooth. After an aside from Aarshlût, a sword was added to the sun that had been tattooed on Ashbazgs chest not so long after he had first arrived. The symbol of the Dawn-Killer Clan, making him the only other member._

"_Rise, Ashbazg of the Shattered Tooth, The Stone Knife, The Cave Fish, The Dawn Killer, The Falling Rock, The Hidden Moon, The Rising Axe, The Bloody Maw, and The Broken Bones Clans. Anywhere that you go, if a member of these Clans sees the markings on your body, they will help you anyway they can. If a member of your clan calls out to you for help, will you help them?" _

_Ashbazg nodded. "I will. I'll give my blood, my bones, and my soul for em." _

_Aarshlût patted him on the shoulder. "That's a good boy. Come, you need to rest, and to hide. They march for Helms Deep soon, and they'll be all down here. Can't have em see you." _

_So Ashbazg was asleep when the waters came. How his new clansmen screamed. How they screamed as they died. He could still remember putting Aarshlût on his back and trying to swim. The Old Orc letting go and saying his time had come. Trying to pull Garmog out of the pits, only to realize that his friend was dead, that the boiling water had gotten into his mouth, burning him inside to out. Watching, helpless, as Bagûrz and Akrûrz were held in the hands of an Ent, bashed into the ground over and over until they were nothing but bloody stumps. He had tried to fight, tried to stand so hard. His legs could not. So he had crawled, crawled away, only to get caught in the river and swept downstream like trash. _

He jerked to full wakefulness, his breath rasping from his throat. After all those years, he was still haunted by it. Still hurting at his failures to protect them. Still disgusted at his cowardice. The sun was rising. He greeted it with fresh tears on his cheeks. He heard her stirring behind him. What would today bring? She had trusted him somewhat last night, but that did not mean she would trust him today. For all he knew, she would want him back in ropes again. He was resigned though. This was his fate, one he must accept if he wanted to live. Just a bit further, out of Rohan, and she surely wouldn't follow him much further out of it. Then he would be free again.


	5. Coming Home

She could feel his eyes upon her when she woke up. It brought back the thoughts of the previous night, and the warning she had felt in her bones about what would happen is she forgot what he was. He could act and seem like a man as much as he wanted when her eyes were closed, but he was still an Orc. Still a killer, still a destroyer of lives. He wasn't like the Orcs who had killed her mother when the King of Gondor had rode to the Gates. Not all had amassed at that fearful fortification, the Dark Lord so sure in his victory that he had sent his minions out into the world to make claims already. Her mother had died in the middle of their village, spitted on the spear point of one of those horrible stunted creatures as she desperately tried to stab him with the sword that she had hidden for their protection. They had put up a desperate defense, but they had been overwhelmed. Only her mothers quick thinking had saved her. She had stuffed her daughter down in the cellar, and then pushed the corner bed over the door.

When the men of her village had returned, she was almost too weak to cry out to them. The cellar food had lasted her a while, which was most likely what her mother had counted on, but her mother couldn't have known that the Riders would stay for the coronation of the King, and then ride to the Golden Hall for the burial of Theoden. No one could have known. The men had came home to destroyed homes and the picked bones of their families, and only one crying 12 year old girl had survived. The men had drifted, to other villages, other wives, and down into deeper bottles. Her uncle, one of the greatest men she had ever known and her last family member, had been one to find his peace in a bottle. When he had finally drank himself to death, she had had enough. She had taken up her fathers bow and leathers, and swore that every Orc she would find would die by her hand for what they had done to her family and her village. This one would be no different if he crossed her. She still didn't know why she was helping him in the first place. He most likely didn't deserve it. He had admitted to being in the party that had killed the Prince of Rohan, and King Eomer would most likely pay handsomely for that confession and the chance to avenge his cousin, who some say he loved like a brother.

She shook her head. No, she wouldn't do that to him. She had promised, gave her word that she would deliver him from Rohan. And that was what she would do. The task was not completely unpleasant or truly taxing, and with no family to speak of, it was not like anyone would be worried for her safe return. She was alone in the Mark, a vast sea of grasses and hills that she had vanished into many times before. She would vanish again when this was all over, and continue what she had started.

* * *

Ash looked over her. Her red hair looked... strange. Like the part where it connected to her head was lighter. More blonde than red. He was sure it hadn't looked like that the other day. He shook his head. He was still disturbed by his dreams. He looked down at his chest, at the markings that still covered his body. He lifted his hand and ran his thumb down the markings of the Shattered Tooth on his bicep. It had been a long time since he had dreamed, or thought of that night at all. It had been a long time indeed. He had thought that the hurt he felt in his heart was over, that it had run dry. But he was very wrong. He still had the hurt deep inside, and he could feel it like a low ache in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to cry almost, wanted to find some kind of release for this terrible pain he could feel. But he wouldn't. Not in front of her. There was no way he was going to appear weak in front of her again.

With not a word spoken, they packed up and began to walk. He wanted to ask her how her side felt, but she had a look of anger and determination on her face that made him feel like his head would be separated from his shoulders if he talked to her. He felt the rough bark of the large branch against the palm of his head, the solid weight of it as it rested on his shoulder. Let her try. He might not be so helpless. Might not let her win that fight. He shook his head at his own nonsense. He wasn't a killer, especially not a killer of women. There had been no Uruk-Hai women. He didn't know if there had ever been any in the pits, or if any of the victims of his brothers efforts had produced female offspring. The people of Rohan had most likely drowned the beasts on sight. He felt another pang of loss in his heart for those sisters and brothers he had never known, who had most likely never took their first breath of life, all because of what their fathers had done. So many lives wiped out because of what Saruman had done, what he had put in their heads.

He had seen some fight it. End up shredded by the whip, back and front. If they kept on fighting it, they'd get beat and then thrown down into the barracks. Once the Uruk-Hai had smelled the dripping blood, they'd jump on it like a starving Warg on meat. Half the time, they'd get ate alive while being fucked to death. It was never pretty. Kept the ones who wanted to fight Masters orders on a real tight leash as well. He had gotten lucky with what had happened to him. The pits had kept him safe from the kind of fate. Until he had to be a protector, get in trouble, get whipped, take it in the ass by one or two until he could scurry off and hide, licking his wounds and trying to be invisible. Never worked for long, but for the time it did, it was always good to be able to sit back and heal.

They walked through the trees, finally coming out to a point where the woods stopped and the grasslands began again. They rolled forth from the eaves of the trees, the mountains on the left, more grassland as far as he could see to the right. She spoke to him then, for the first time since they had started their trek.

* * *

"Damn. We must have gotten turned around last night. If we try to cross the Mountains here, we'll end up in Dunland." Crouching down, she bent grass blades and moved stones and acorns to make the shapes she remembered from the area. She used a twig to point out the interest areas.

"We can turn south, going back through the Forest or around the edges of it, and go through the Gap of Rohan. Now, this would take us through the Fords of Isen and past Isengard-" She stopped at the deep rumble that was coming from the Uruks chest. He did not seem to like the idea of going anywhere near his old home- "Or, we can travel North, and then take the pass of Redhorn to get through the Misty Mountains. This late in the year, it is likely the last chance we will have. We will pass close to Moria, but we should stay out of trouble, and be neither disturbed by Orcs or Dwarves, whichever races still strives for those dark pits. I think we should go through the Redhorn."

Ashbazg nodded his agreement. "As long as we pass the pits of az-âvul."

She sighed. "I don't speak that evil tongue. But I think you want to go nowhere near Isengard and take the Redhorn as well.

He nodded his agreement, and she felt something. No Man, of Rohan, Gondor, Bree, or any other city of Men, would have listened to her. They would have told her to keep her mouth shut, to go home and raise children. He listened, he agreed, he had let her make her plan and would now use it because he recognized it as good.

* * *

"Gléowyn. If we pass too closely too Moria, I can be of no help there. Moria Orcs... savages, even by other standards. Eat any flesh. Live in the baiûrz-burzum."

She nodded slowly, her thick braid slipping over her shoulder. Her skin was not white like clouds, but tanned by the sun, like a rich leather. He tore his eyes away from her. She was his captor. If she caught him looking at her like anything other than a prisoner... she would fill him full of arrows and leave him staked out for the wolves to eat. She had fire, and she was beautiful. But she was deadly, and would kill him in a heart beat. She was as baiûrz as the steams and fires of the pits, as the crushing darkness of under the Mountains. Shaking his head, he stood as she did, and followed her as they begun to walk. They would have to hunt before making the trek across the mountains, they would need some kind of food before they attempted it. He broached the subject with her, and she took it with what was becoming her trademark sarcasm.

"So you can what? Hit me with an arrow?"

He had the decency to look affronted, and then he saw it. Once of the deer of the plains, standing in the grasses. He gripped his club and looked at her.

"Do not shoot me."

Then he showed her the legendary speed of his people, the swift feet and ability to make those feet last. The deer was facing away, and the wind was favorable. With no armor to jangle and no boots to make noise in the springy grasses of the Mark, it never heard him coming until the oaken club smashed its skull. He couldn't resist himself, it had been so long since he had had this. He gripped it by the head and sank his teeth deep into the veins of its throat, drinking the hot and rich lifeblood from its thrashing body. He couldn't help himself, the taste was like no other. The feeling of the being in question slowly leaving this plane, but bringing life into you was indescribable. He could hear her approach, and he let go, standing, unmindful of the blood that soaked from his chin to his waist. So much had been spilled, but he had been excited. It wasn't like the Pitmaster was here to make sure he got every bit.

If she was made uncomfortable by the blood, she did not show it. Just set to cleaning it with a methodical manner that made it plain she had done this many times. After the meat was cut, they packed as much as they could carry. They had made the choice to smoke it that night over the fire, and then they would make the mountain pass by morning. Another day to cross it, and then they would be in unfamiliar territory for both of them.

First, they would have to cross the pass without running into any of the Orcs that lived in the Misty Mountains. Ashbazg could not help but have a strange feeling he thought he would never have again. It was like when he had been out on something, and was coming back and knew he would go to the pits with his friends again. A feeling like coming home.

az-âvul: Kill-steam

baiûrz-burzum: Dangerous darkness.


	6. A shock to the System

They finally stopped as the sun began to sink into the other side of the world. They had no choice but to set up camp in the open, they had left the forest behind and she had no desire to sleep on the rocks of the mountains. They had set to preserving the meat, and for some reason Ashbazg had dropped a flat rock almost into the middle of the fire. As it heated and started to glow, he took two large meat strips and laid them on it, and the scent of cooking meat filled the air. He stood and left, and she briefly wondered where he was off to now. He was quiet, as well. She hadn't noticed it that much, dragging him through the woods or when running from the wild men, but when he had chased down the deer he hadn't made a sound. He didn't make one now either. She shrugged. If he had wanted to kill her, then he would have done it earlier. He had plenty of chances to do it in the night as well.

Reaching into her pack, she retrieved a few items. She placed the red berries in the mortar, and lifting the pestle, she diligently set about crushing them. When they were crushed, she filtered the juice into another bowl, stained a deep red on the inside. She put a leather glove on her hand, and began to work the red juice into the roots of her hair. The berry juice didn't last long, especially after bathing, but she would do her ritual as diligently as possible. Her mother had flame red hair. She had been born with the pale blonde hair of her people, like her father. When her mother had died, she had started dying her hair red. It was something that kept her in touch, made her remember her mother.

"What are you doing?"

Gléowyn nearly jumped out of her skin. She had definitely been right. She'd never heard him coming, and he had scared the life out of her almost.

"BEMA! What do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me like that?"

He had the nerve to actually look confused. "Wasn't sneaking. Was being loud."

She put the finishing touched on her hair and dumped the rest of the juice on the ground.

"Could have fooled me!"

The camp was silent for a few moments, the only noise the cooking of the meta on the rocks, which the Orc reached for and turned over.

"So... what were you doing?"

Gléowyn sighed.

"I was dying me hair."

With an even more confused look on his face, he asked, "Your hair is dead?"

A laugh burst forward from her, and she couldn't stop it. It echoed around the camp, and she was finally able to control her mirth, almost bursting out once again when she saw the look of confusion on his face only deepen.

"No, I put dye in it. To make the color change."

He stared at her for a moment. Then he grabbed a great chunk of his hair and showed it to her. "Change this? Can you change this too?"

She shrugged. His hair wasn't as light as hers, so it should be easy to change if she found something. Why would he want that though? Hell, his hair might just stay a sword one day when he needed it the most.

* * *

He watched her shoulders move up and down, then smiled when she said yes. He whooped so loudly that he almost missed her asking him why.

"Look... more Uruk-Hai. Not like tark. Can you dye my eyes?"

His emotions plummeted when she shook her head no. There was nothing he could do there. Always have to have damned Tark eyes. But she could fix his hair! Make it black, black like an Uruk-Hai. But what was the point of that, if he would still have these damned eyes that told everyone he was different as soon as he looked at them. They had threatened to put his eyes out once. Told him that if he wanted to live with the snaga rats, then he shouldn't have to see them. He had fought his hardest to get out of that trap, and he had won free, running down to the pits, his feet slapping the cold and unforgiving stone in rhythm to their laughter. The Orcs had been glad to see him back down with them, happy that he was okay. He was an Uruk-Hai, but he was a member of their community. And they had cemented that when they had claimed him.

The meat done, they sat to eating it. It was nothing special, but it filled their bellies, and should for the next few days. As they ate, Ashbazg heard something. It sounded like creaking leather. At first he thought Gléowyn had moved, but she was lying on her back, looking at the sky. They had no horses to have made the sound, but what could it be? Then he heard it. The rasp of metal pulled from a scabbard. He jumped to his feet, raising his club from the ground, one hand on it, the other with it's fingers splayed, claws out to do damage. Now that he wasn't distracted, he could smell them on the air. Orcs. Others of his kind. But these would kill him, if Moria Orcs. Orcs of the Misty Mountains would kill him as well. Best to fight, best to fight and die. For Gléowyn as well. They would rape her until she was nothing but skin and bones, taking bites as they went. That's what the Moria Orcs would do.

"GRAK! URUK GRAK!"

Gléowyn was on her feet in seconds, daggers drawn and her back pressed to his. Her bow was useless here, and he was the safest point she had.

"Grishûrz-glu! Which one of ya speaks the Uruk-ghashnum?"

Ashbazg tried to use his ears to track where the voice was. If it was speaking, it was the leader. If it was the leaser, it would die first. He could feel where she was pressed against his back, and he knew that this was dangerous, they would most likely die here.

"Ghashn-ghashkrum!"

Ashbazg snarled and bared his teeth at the darkness. If they were Orcs, they could see in the dark. The glare of the fire might help them a bit, hurting the eyes of those who could see in the black.

"I speak it pushdug! Ashbazg, Uruk-Hai of Isengard!"

He could hear whispers in the dark, Black Speech of a dialect different than what he knew, which was not much. The Uruk Hai spoke a bastard version, and he had spent too much time in the pits to learn it. The Orcs spoke Common, to better communicate with each other and with the men that Saruman had in his employ. The Master of course, hadn't felt it necessary to learn the language of his slaves. He growled, still on the defensive, to Gléowyn. "If you see them, attack. No mercy, no quarter. We either die here or they do."

"Ashbazg of Isengard! We heard of another with that name. But he was of the bukra, not just some Wizards baalak!"

Ashbazg roared, and would have charged if only he knew where the speaker stood. He kept moving, back and forth across the field, making it hard to get a fix on him.

"I AM ASHBAZG OF ISENGARD! ASHBAZG OF THE SHATTERED TOOTH, THE STONE KNIFE, THE CAVE FISH, THE DAWN KILLER, THE FALLING ROCK, THE HIDDEN MOON, THE RISING AXE, THE BLOODY MAW, AND THE BROKEN BONES CLANS! I AM YOUR DEATH IF YOU HARM ME, AND YOU WILL NOT TAKE ME ALIVE!"

A different voice spoke, harsh and low. "Prove it."

* * *

Gléowyn licked her lips as this exchange took place. She couldn't understand much of what was said, but she could hear the anger in his voice and the mocking in the voice of the others. She almost hit the ground at the level of volume is roar produced, even as damaged as his throat was. He named himself, something that must be of importance if he was so angry about it. He had told her what was expected of her. Funny, she had always thought she would die by an Orc. Always, since she had started doing it, she knew that this was how she would die. Well, maybe not with an Uruk-Hai at her back, ready to protect her, but the rest, she had a good idea of.

She heard a voice tell him to prove it, and she felt him move away as he took a few steps away from her. She looked over her shoulder at him, and he removed his long tunic, once again exposing his muscular body and the white tattoos that adorned him. Now that he had said those words, the shapes made sense to her. That one, that looked like a tusk but cracked. The fish with no eyes. An axe, tattooed vertically on his shoulder. Now she could hear the whispers of that evil tongue once again from the edges of the fire, and Ashbazg rumbled something.

"Ash? What are they going to do?"

"They say someone wants to talk to us. No weapons. No tricks."

"Can we trust them?"

"We don't have a choice."

She heard them call from the edge, and tightened her grip on her daggers. They might bring no weapons, but she would. As another Orc walked into the firelight, she watched the club tumble from Ashbazgs seemingly nerveless hands, watched him fall to his knees.

"Ash! What is it?" She kneeled at his side, daggers ready to fight. He was her only ally, she had to make sure she had someone who could watch her back.

"I... k-know him."

* * *

He looked down at Ashbazg, impossible while standing, easy now that the big Uruk was on his knees. He smiled, his tusks gleaming in the light, burn scars similar to that of the Uruk-Hai also gleaming.

"Hello little brother." Skrithûrz said as he walked forward. The big Uruk rose to his feet and pushed the human woman out of the way, but gently, and grabbed the smaller Orc in a backbreaking squeeze.

"Easy! I'm not as big as you Uruk-Hai oxen!"

Ashbazg looked to the woman again, a smile gracing his face. Not many of those had been seen on his face in the pits, usually only when playing bones with the others or being taught something by an Elder. Smiles were very rare for the big Uruk.

"Gléowyn, this is Skrithûrz. He's... like my brother."

* * *

grak, uruk grak- Trap, Orc Trap.

Grishûrz-glu- Bloody Piss (It's a swear phrase I use.)

Uruk-ghashnum- Ork-Speech

Ghashn-ghashkrum- Command answer

bukra- Clans

baalak- half-breed


	7. Shards

**This was a long one. Could have been longer, but I decided to cut it, because I'm evil.**

* * *

She watched with guarded eyes as he introduced the new orc as his brother. Now he would turn on her. He was with his own kind, and despite his kind words, this is when he would become the savage she had thought him to be. She should have killed him when she had the chance. She took a firmer grip on the hilts of her daggers. If he even moved wrong right now, she would take him down, hard. The others might kill her, but she would take him down and bury the daggers in her chest before they captured her. Stupid! So stupid to even think she could trust him the slightest bit. She steeled herself for this. The next few moments would prove if she was as foolish as she knew her mother would think her. This was her punishment for not killing him, for violating her oath to Bema. To be ripped apart by Orcs like wolves would rip apart a stag. She was so damn angry with herself.

The clouds parted, and the full moon shown down on them with the pale light. They were surrounded, at least 12 of the small mountain Orcs. She was dead.

* * *

Ashbazg stopped. He could smell... something. He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as the wind blew toward him, catching the stray tendrils of his hair. That smell. What was it? He took another deep breath, and the wind blew full in his face, washing over Gléowyn as it came to him. There! It was her. He knew those smells. Acrid scent of fear. He could understand that, just because an Orc he knew was with them, did not mean that they were safe. Anger? Why was she angry? Because they had been trapped, ambushed? Then her eyes looked into his, and the sharp and tangy scent of anger, like hot blood, hit him even harder. She was angry at him? Why? What had he done? He hadn't done anything to her, had only dropped the club and greeted someone who was, in all respects, the only family he had. He could feel his anger. Could feel it building, a red hot wall.

After what she had said to him, what she had done, she had the nerve to get angry at him over anything? After what he had shared, what he had told her? She thought she had the right to be angry about anything? He could have left her to those wild men. Let them leave her corpse out, defiled, let them slit her up and leave her rotting. He could have ghosted up behind, she would have never heard him with her shit ears, and ripped her stupid tark throat out before she could scream. But he hadn't done a single one of those things. He trusted her! He had to! And this is what she would do? He unconsciously took a step forward, baring his fangs. She had no right!

* * *

He had done something. His nostrils had flared, and he taken in a great breath. When she looked at him, the fire of her anger blossomed inside her. Why did he have to be an Orc! It wasn't fair. He listened to her. He did what no other man had ever been willing to do, listen to her plan. Not only listen, but want to follow through, and not make trouble. He had saved her once, saved her from what was surely a fate she attributed to what Orcs did. Why couldn't he be a man? Not have that damnable dark skin and those claws and tusks! Why couldn't his blonde hair and eyes be set in a man? His personality be in the body of a man? No! He had to be a damned Orc! She could feel her anger, burning her up. Her face was getting hot, her blood tingling. She was furious. What right did he have? By what right did he have to make her feel so different, to cut her so against the grain of who she was?

Why though? Why was she so angry that he wasn't a man? Why was she mad that he made her think about what she had done over the years, what she had almost done to him? _Because you're alone girl. And you're a wolf, not a cougar. There needs to be a pack. _What? Who said that? That had been in her mind. That dry, gravelly, deep voice. She had never heard a voice like that in her life. It promised danger, and fun, and chaos, and growth, and change. It wasn't a voice she felt she could keep contact with. It was too wild. Like it would leave her some wild woman, running through the trees naked, jumping from branch to branch and killing animals with her teeth. Shaken, she felt her anger only get stronger. What did that mean? She was a wolf, and needed a pack? Fine! She would find a pack with her own kind, with someone of her people! Not this hulking behemoth that she couldn't trust!

She heard his growl, saw his tusks. Saw his fist clench, those black claws of his digging into the palm of his hand, his black blood running down his fingers to drip from his knuckles. She gripped her daggers. His nostrils were still flared wide, and she felt the wind blow against her back, towards him. Was he... smelling her? Could he smell her anger? No. That was impossible. Wasn't it? He had sensed the others before they had sprung their trap. There was no telling how sharp his senses were. He would think... there was no telling what he would think of her right now. That he had done nothing wrong, but she was angry. He wouldn't know how to deal. Coming from what he had described, he most likely equaled the scent of unjustified anger with a brutal beating. She did the only thing she could at that time. She sheathed her daggers. She was still angry, but she didn't want him to attack her.

* * *

Ashbazg was confused, but he loosened his fists. She was still angry. He could smell the molten anger coming off of her. Blinded, he could find her across all of Rohan by that damn smell. But she had put her daggers away, and it was slowly going away. He shook his head hard to get his thoughts straight. So she was angry. She was always angry with him, to some degree. He would just have to live with it until they parted ways. He turned back to Skrithûrz, who had mercifully kept quiet during their stand off. Ashbazg knew that he could smell the anger directed at him as well, he was just older. More experienced with containing his emotions when it came to things. Ashbazg... was not.

"Well well boy. You're one face I never thought I'd see again. That's for damned sure."

Ashbazg nodded.

"I thought you died that day. Like everyone else."

Skrithûrz chuckled grimly.

"Oh, a fair lot of use was killed that day. But we didn't all die. The clans are a little smaller now, but we're still here. We miss many, and many still mourn, but we are here. And we grow stronger. But come, leave the tark here. We can take you into the mountains. Lead the way for you. We'll find a way to make it work for you. It has been too long since I have seen you. Too long that I thought you dead."

Ashbazg was choked with emotion. He looked to the side, so the moon beams would not make silver lines of where his tears fell. He could see her. Even unarmed, she stood, fierce and proud. Ready to fight, ready to die. She had promised that she would leave him when he entered the west. If he was cunning, he could say they would visit the clans, and make her stay for a long time. Until she saw the true nature of the Orcs. Or he could just leave her, let her go her own way.

_**NO! **She is important Ashbazg. Do not leave her. Travel the road you had planned, and see what the world unfolds for you._

"Ashbazg? You have that look. Who speaks in your head now? Saruman is dead and gone. Who has claimed your soul?"

He shook his head. "No one claimed it. The voice... it helps. Tells me when to go right. Tells me when I'm going to do wrong. Another wizard, brown though. Speaks with the wisdom of Aarshlût though. Like he would guide me if given voice."

Skrithûrz spoke. "Where will you go? No one will accept you."

The big Uruk shrugged. "Heard about land, over the mountains. Big land, not so many horse lords. Land to grow, to build, to live on. No one find me there."

Skrithûrz grunted. "Stubborn ox. I know you boy. You'll go unless I drag you into the caves in chains, and you'll never forgive me for it. What about her. eh? Going to let her follow you around until she sticks a knife in you?"

When he looked at her, trying to say what he wanted, he felt something. He didn't know what it was. Electric in his blood, but his knees were weak. Like he had heard the scream of the Wraiths, but not... not as bad. Not bad. He could feel the difference. Namely, not wanting to piss himself. But it was still new. Different. Nothing he had ever felt before. It didn't feel bad, but the newness scared him. He shook it off.

"We got a deal. She makes sure I get over the mountains, don't turn around the terrorize her homeland. She comes back, and I live. Simple enough."

There was a glint in the eyes of Skrithûrz, but he said nothing. He was older than Ashbazg, older by several hundred years. His nose was just as sharp. He had smelled it when Ashbazg looked at her, had smelled it plenty of times. Right about the first time warriors noticed the women, that's when the caves ran so thick with that smell on any given day that it almost gave you a headache. That shit would get the boy killed.

"Well, alright boy. Make you a deal. We camp with you, give you some supplies from the door crack in the pass, and then separate there. Work for you? I got some catching up and talking to do to you."

"Fine with me. You okay with that Gléowyn?"

He heard the spite and anger in her voice. "What choice do I have,_** fool**_?"

He felt cut. He wasn't bleeding, but her calling him that, like that, hurt more than any other thing she had called him. It hurt deep in his chest, like an arrow that had hit a lung, or was stuck through the heart. Why did that hurt?

Skrithûrz nodded. "That's settled. Come on boy, we've gotta talk. The boys will set their bedrolls away from your tark."

* * *

"You hurt him when you called him that."

Gléowyn pulled her head out of her hands and looked at the Orc. "I know I did. Get away from me."

The orc tutted. "Tsk. You ain't getting away from me that easy girlie. Ol' Skrithûrz is talking to the boy, I'm supposed to talk to you. Let you know what's going on. Make sure ya don't hurt that big idiot."

"Don't call him that!" The heat from her defense surprised her. Who was she to say that? She had just called him a fool. In front of all the others, Orcs with their hearing, they heard it. But she was angry that this Orc called him an idiot. The Orc in question sighed.

"Dammit. You've got it too. How old are you girlie?"

"Twenty-four."

The Orc flopped down, one leg on the ground and the other bent at the knee, with the Orcs chin resting on it.

"Names Mal by the way. Well, it's actually Malishûrz, but I hate that name. So it's Mal. Now listen here. You're twenty years old, Ash over there is about 26-28, I don't rightly know. What you've gotta know, that's his body age. Mind-wise? He's more like sixteen or eighteen. Just starting to come into his own. And he prolly ain't ever spent more than three seconds in female company, if that. Da told me about him, said he wasn't used for breeding. Too deformed. So he never did none of that. Travelin' with you, it's gonna confuse him, stir up feelings."

Gléowyn started sputtering, but the Orc never gave her a chance to talk.

"Listen girlie, I ain't asking ya to kiss him. Just don't kill him. Kick him in the tackle if ya gotta, but let him live. He's probably one of the last of his kind. There might be a couple more scattered here and there, but they ain't like him, they got all that shit Saruman wanted in em, they got all that inside em. Ready to bust out and slaughter, rape, eat people until they bust. Ashbazg ain't like that. He's best chance for an Uruk-Hai to live in peace. Da wants that. Says the boy been through enough, won't tell me, but he want's him happy. Used to say, 'Ashbazg, killed them damn Uruk-Hai for us, and he was one of 'em! What I wouldn't have gave for that boy to smile more'. So trust me. Da don't like regrets, so he's over there right now telling the boy how to be happy."

Gléowyn nodded. "So, Skri-Skritha-Skrithoorz, is your father?"

Mal grinned and nodded. "Yup. I'm his eighteenth whelp, and the only daughter out of all of his."

A female? Now that Gléowyn looked hard at Mal, she could see it. Her face was finer, the cheekbones higher. The tusks were smaller, and her lips were softer. Her hair looked like the other Orcs, but seemed to be adorned with bits of shell and bone. A female Orc. She had never seen such a thing! She had thought... well, she honestly didn't know what she had thought. Uruk-Hai it was said, were made of Orc males and raped women. Ashbazg had confirmed that for her. She had supposed other Orcs were made the same way, but that wouldn't work would it? Five or six generations down the line, they wouldn't be Orcs anymore, they'd be mostly human. This was difficult. This meant that the Orcs she had killed... they weren't automatically rapists. If what Ashbazg had described and what she was seeing with her own eyes were true, not all Orcs were murderers either. It had been a lot easier to kill rapists and murderers than to think of them as fathers, brothers, sons, and husbands. Now it was an entirely different feeling.

"Anyways. Go easy on the boy. He ain't had much practice."

Gléowyn blushed. "Actually, not really. I left home at fourteen and started doing... what I do." She finished lamely.

Here Mal snorted and her eyes glittered. "Oh yea Girlie? And what is it that you do?"

Gléowyn looked to the ground, the sky, any where but the Orc woman. "I hunt."

The Orc chuckled. "Don't we all girlie. But back to subject. So, no fellas, none ever?"

When Gléowyn shook her head no, Mal rolled her eyes and went into a long speech about the birds and the bees. When she finished, cackling with glee as she retold the story of her and her husbands first romp in a cave that had been lit by the glowing mosses and fungi, which she told in great detail, Gléowyn was slightly sick. Men and women did things like that? They did things to each other that involved that?

" Malishûrz! I told you to tell her which way the wind blew, not give her a damn heart attack!"

The Orc was still cackling. "Sorry Da. It was just too funny."

"Grab me something to lean on, ya damn rascal. Or I'll tell your mama about ya frightenin' the poor girl with stories of Balcmeg and that little worm he likes to wiggle."

Mal called back as she went to grab the furs. "That little worm gave you six grandchildren old man!"

"Add them to the other eighty-seven I've got!"

Gléowyn looked for Ashbazg, but the old Orc had returned alone. He knelt down, slowly easing his legs out to sit on the ground. The scar tissue he bore was just as bad as the Uruk-Hai, but the tough old Orc would never admit that it hurt him. He nodded as Mal grabbed a rolled up fur and he leaned back against it.

"Ok girl. Ashbazg is gonna sit over there, until we talk. I know he's listening, boys ears are sharper than my wifes tongue when she's mad. So no games, no lies, no tricks. Just honest truth between us. Don't care if you trust me, I'm gonna trust you like the boy is doing with his life. Knowing him, you're a damn good one to have earned something like that from him. What is Ashbazg to you, in your words."

"I'm just escorting him out of Rohan. We talk, but I am not his friend. I'm going to do my duty, fulfill my promise, then come back home. Certainly nothing like your daughter was describing."

Mal snorted. "You should try it, it's fun."

Skrithûrz spoke over his daughter. "So what? Risk your life for one of us? The twisted? Risking it all for some Uruk-Hai of Sarumans? Some wizards get? What do you think yer playin' at girl? You'll get the boy killed quicker than if he was alone! WHAT ARE YOU RISKIN' IT ALL FOR HIM FOR?"

It slipped out before she could stop it. The wind blew, the area where grasslands and mountains met smelled like the green forest, and far away, but loud to hear, a wolf howled, only to be followed by his pack howling as well. She had jumped to her feet, and she didn't know why or how she was doing it. Her voice raised, galloping like the horses of Rohan over the yelling of the old Orc.

"BECAUSE HE'S NOT SARUMANS URUK-HAI! HE'S NOT TWISTED! HE'S MY URUK-HAI!" As soon as she said it, she turned bright red with shame. She clapped her hands over her mouth, falling back down into a sitting position, her hair covering her face. She was embarraseed. More than that, she was shamed. How could she say something like that? Why would she say something like that. She looked up, and Skrithûrz was smiling.

"Good. Now we can talk."

The voice, that tricky voice, the one that sounded so wild and changing, was in her head again.

_Remember. Wolves need a pack. And it'll take more than a little blood and mead to get you out of this **one, **my Huntress._


	8. Trouble

He hadn't said a word to her since they had left behind the others. They had parted ways at the mountain crack, an ancient door that the Goblins and Orcs of the Misty Mountains had used since a time forgotten. The air in their party was tense once they were alone again. He hadn't spoken to her since her proclomation at the camp, hadn't even looked at her. The other Orcs had laughed at their obvious discomfort, and Skrithûrz had spoken to Ashbazg privately many times. She had no idea what they had spoken about, she had been too busy trying to figure out her own feelings. They had made it down the tricky mountain pass, and had continued walking, even into the night. She had said she would leave him after the mountains. Why was she still with him? What hadn't she turned back at the mountains?

She was worried for him. Worried that someone would see him and hurt him. But it was deeper than that. Stronger. She wanted to protect him, wanted to see him happy. She was disgusted with herself. His people had killed hers for hundreds of years, and would likely continue. The flukes that were the Orcs that raised him, the fluke that he was, did not make up for the past. He would feel the hatred of man until the day he died. She could feel her hatred for him ebbing away, but she could not have that. Her hate kept her strong. It kept her safe.

They finally stopped for the night, and she collapsed on the ground. They didn't even build a fire, and she was out in the amount of time it took her to remove her boots. And she dreamed. Oh, how she dreamed.

* * *

_She was in a home. Something deep inside her told her that it was her home. It was simple, like any longhouse of Rohan. There were wall coverings, and even in the dream they showed her terrible stitching. She grimaced as she continued to look around. There was a large oven, a great table, and meat and food was well stocked. The house was clean and she felt pride in her dream home. She was in her leathers, and she stretched slowly, taking her time to pop the kinks in her back. As she reached the full height of her stretch, arms circled around her and she heard a deep chuckle in her ears. She leaned back into the person, feeling safe, feeling wanted. The hands that trailed down her side slowly picked at the buckles and knots that held her armor up, until it was lose and fell to the ground. Her bare back against the muscular chest behind her sent little shivers of lightning through her skin. She coudl feel his lips against her throat, kissing and taking little nips at the sensitive skin. _

_His hands weren't idle either, holding her breasts with the pads of his thumbs moving around her nipples in small circles. She tilted her head back as he almost lazily trailed one of his hands away from her chest, down to her womanhood where his fingers began to trace the same lazy cirlces as they had before, but in a far more pleasurable spot. Her hips moved with his hand, and she felt her pleasure building. She reached behind her grasping his manhood and pulling on it. She felt the heat of it, the hardness. _

_"Ashbazg..." _

* * *

She was dreaming about something. He could tell by how she kept moving. She thought he had went to sleep as well, but he hadn't. He rose, quiet as a cloud, and snuck away. He needed to cler his head. Needed to think. He hadn't gotten far when he smelled something. He lifted his head, his hair streaming in the wind, nostrils flaring as he tried to catch the illusive scent. For the second time in his life, he never heard his attackers before he was done, a rag stuffed in his mouth and hands bound behind his back. He could smell it now. Golug-Hai. Elf kind. He was as good as dead, unless they decided to play with him first. It was good though. Gléowyn would be able to go home now, and whatever was between them growing, could die. No more shame and disgust in her scent over him. His world went dark as they placed a bag over his head, and his breathing grew harsh and loud in his own ears. Couldn't they just kill him and get it over with?

They jerked him to his feet, and began to march him away. He did not struggle. He had ran from death for years, and now that he felt it had come for him once again, he would accept his fate with some kind of dignity. He prayed he would not cry out. Gléowyn hearing and coming to his aid was not something he wanted. Her coming and seeing him dead or dying, he did not want either. He would not be able to take seeing happiness at his death on her face. A voice told him that that was not so, but he still felt it was. They continued to drag him, and he felt the difference as rough forest floor turned to cold stone. When they stopped, his head hung down as he kneeled on the floor. Where in the hells had they brought him? What was going to happen to him now, why hadn't they just opened his throat in the forest? His breathing was shaky, his heart pumping his body full of adrenaline and fear. The knowledge he was about to die was bad enough. But the waiting was worse. So much worse.

"Welcome to Rivendell. I am Lord Elrond. Remove his mask."

* * *

_She bucked against his hips as he slowly drove into her once more, filling her up. He fit perfectly inside her, making her feel like she was complete. She whispered nothing words in his ear, until he captured her mouth with his own and she stopped talking. His tusk pressed against her lips, but did not cut, and were not as uncomfortable as she would have thought. His deft fingers had stoked a fire in her body, his claws never once hurting her. She broke off this kiss as she cried out in bliss, the feelings he created driving her insane. She opened her eyes and screamed. He was pierced by cruel arrows, an Elvish knife buried deep in his chest. He fell to his knees, reaching for her, blood spilling from his mouth as he called out her name, unable to see her. _

Gléowyn woke with a start, her heart racing and her cheeks flushed. She looked around, trying to find him, trying to reassure herself that he was still there. He wasn't. He was gone. She jumped to her feet, forgetting her pack, her boots, everything but the armor she had fallen asleep in and the knives that she quickly grabbed. She cast out in a circle from the camp, hoping to see anything. Any sign.

He could have just left, but she knew in her heart that wasn't true. Something, or someone, had taken him from her. And he was going to die if she didn't find him. She just knew it.

"Ashbazg! Were are you?!" She called out, desperate for any kind of contact. Maybe someone had seen him, maybe there were settlements nearby, something, anything. "Please Ash! Come back to me!"

She burst through a bush, hoping against hope he was on the other side. Instead, she was staring down the arrows of two men like creatures, dressed in grey cloaks that seemed to melt into the woods. She couldn't tell if they were men or orc, maybe even elves. They would get the arrows into her before she would have a chance to grab her knives. She might take one, but she would die in the process. But these two could know something. Finding her will to speak, she took a deep breath before asking.

"Did you see someone pass this way recently? Tall, dirty blonde hair, muscular? Please? I need to find him."

One of the cloaked seemed to twitch. "Yrch." He nodded to the other, who lowered his bow and he pulled out a length of rope. Motioning for Gléowyn to hold out her hands, they tied her at the wrists before the second one lowered his bow.

"You will come with us, woman of Rohan. Lord Elrond has delayed his departure for one more night to be the judge of this."

Gléowyn shivered. Something in the tone of his words frightened her.  
"Judge what?"

The elf, for that is what he was, tossed back his hood, revealing shining gold hair and blue eyes. "The right of the Yrch to a quick death or a slow one."


	9. In the Elf Lords Court

She could hear his harsh breathing as they brought her in, forcing her to her knees beside him. The Elf that sat on the dais sternly said something in their language, and the elf that had pushed her down seemed chastened by it. She did not understand what was going on here. Neither she nor Ashbazg had harmed anyone at all. Looking out the corner of her eyes at him, a blush crept up her cheeks, remembering the first parts of her dream. A flame of desire burned in her lower regions, and she quickly looked away. She could feel the thoughts, the urges to have him, like it was the most important thing in the world. She could feel him from the dreaming, thrusting into her as she clawed his back. But now that it was not a dream, and she could see him in reality, the differences between them were too much to bear. She felt desire for him, and it disgusted her. He was an Orc. And she was a woman. It could never be, and she would be killed as surely as him. Or he would be tortured because they would think he had tortured her. She couldn't allow that.

"Now. We have a mystery that has caused me to delay my trip with the others to sail into the West. Why do I have an Uruk-Hai, many of which died in the War, sitting on the stones of my home? And with a woman of Rohan beside him, who was looking for him in the forest? What tale can you two tell me that will satisfy my curiosity?"

Slowly, she told him everything. Gléowyn told him about finding him, sparing his life. Why she had spared him. The attack of the Wild Men that he had came back to save her from. She told them about the walk through the forest, everything that had happened. Something warned her to not saying anything about their Orc friends. The Elf that had tied her hands, he and his companion looked like they wanted to spit on her and Ashbazg, so an Orc settlement, even good Orcs like the clans, would not be something she could tell them in good conscience. Her throat ran dry, and she ended the story with waking up, seeing Ashbazg missing, and trying to find him.

A blonde elf woman laughed aloud, slowly smiling as she spoke.

"What a grand tale. It has satisfied my curiosity, only to ignite it more."

The Elf Lord nodded, tapping his chin with a finger.

"I agree. A shield maiden of Rohan, one with the most cause to hate the Uruk-Hai and Orcs in general, is helping this one. It is interesting, and I wish I had more time to view it. Yrch. Ashbazg I believe she called you. What is your purpose?"

She watched as he raised his head. Silent tears had made their way down his face, but his voice was strong.

"My purpose is to live. To build a home. To live without having to kill another Man, Orc, Elf, or Dwarf for the rest of my days. That's my purpose Golug-hai."

The blond elf who had tied her clouted him in the back of the head. Ash didn't move, other than snapping his jaw at the Elf and growling deep in his throat. Gléowyn did far more. She shot forward from her knees, catching the blond son of a bitch in the side with the top of her head. She fell without her arms to catch herself, smacking her head on the ground. It hurt, and her nose felt like it was on fire. The elf regained his feet quickly, and kicked her once in the side. He drew back for another, despite the shouts of his people, but never got a chance to. She heard the snapping ropes over the noise, heard the roar. She saw the dark body fly over her, hands and claws extended.

"ASHBAZG NO!"

He stopped. The Elf was breathing quickly, and she could see where the tusks were pressed into his throat, a small trickle of blood dripping from where one had nicked him.

"Ashbazg… please. Let him go."

He growled quietly, speaking around the elf neck in his mouth, only slightly muffled. He didn't so much as speak as let the words rumble out of his mouth. With each word, they could see his jaw moving, rubbing those sharp teeth against the white throat.

"He hit you. He must pay."

The Elf Lord stood, and looked down at the Uruk and Elf.

"Then you will die as well Ashbazg. There is a chance for life. But you will die if you kill him. The blood of my people, even one who has forgotten his honor by striking a bound prisoner, is too precious to lose."

There was almost a collective sigh of relief as Ash released him, allowing him to drop to the floor. He jumped to his feet, pulling out a knife. Gléowyn screamed. She had seen that knife. In her dream, it was buried in Ashbazg's chest. She tried to lurch to her feet, but she couldn't, her bare feet slipped on the cold stone. The elf yelled out as he drove the dagger down, down into the chest of her friend. He had been staring at her, and didn't see it coming for him.

She screamed, kicking herself to crawl to him, falling across him as the elf was grabbed by his own people, soon joining her in having her hands bound. The blonde elf woman who had laughed cut Gléowyn's ropes, and she cradled his head as his eyelids fluttered and closed, opening and closing. She tried to get him to look at her, but it was like the dream. He couldn't see her. All that was missing was the arrows.

"Ash! Please Ashbazg. Don't leave. Stay with me. Please!"

He smiled slowly, his eyes barely flickering open.

"Can't see ya. Can't see yer face. Ya sound strange… when you call me… by my name…"

"Fine, fine, I'll call you anything you want. Beast, Ash, Fool, anything. Just stay with me so I can call you it!"

"I liked… when you called me…"

She grabbed at his face, pulling his head to look at her, as it lolled about on his neck. His breathing kept growing shallow, and his eyes were no longer opening.

"When I called you what? Please tell me."

"… Called me yours…"

With that, his head fell back. She was moved out of the way, numb, but the blonde elf and the Elf Lord were bent over him, whispering as a soft light came from their hands over his body. She crumpled to the ground as they tried to save him.

_Please. Please let him live. Please. _

The Elf Lord grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her from the ground.

"Gléowyn. My name is Elrond, and I will do everything in my power to save Ashbazg. I am sorry you have come to this much pain under my roof. We will take care of him, and help him with a home. We can have a room readied for you, if you so wish."

She looked past him, to where Ashbazg lay on the floor, no longer bleeding and the knife removed. She couldn't think. Elrond, that's what he said his name was, wanted to take her somewhere. She couldn't leave him. Not here, alone with these people.

"Where… Where is he going to be staying?"

"When he is healed enough to move, we will move him to one of our healing rooms. But we haven't much time."

"I'll stay with him. Here. When you move him, I'll follow."

He nodded and briefly squeezed her shoulder before returning to his duties. Like a stone, she sat and watched as the Elf Lords worked their magic on him, and she followed them just as quietly, just as devoid of emotion, when they moved him to a healing room, where he slept peacefully, his guardian shield maiden watching over him.


	10. Finality

**I'm glad y'all have liked the story, and seem to like my characters. This is the final chapter of the Fool and the Huntress. Enjoy. **

**And Zoop, don't kill me. **

**There is an alternate ending I may share with you all one day, which is a real heart breaker. I almost didn't finish writing it because of how bad it made my heart hurt, but I changed my mind at the last moment. **

* * *

He felt like he was coming out of a great pit. In the darkness of the Isengard again, swimming against the water and steam. Swimming from death. He clawed his way out of the great chasm, feeling the red eyes of Death burning his back. He felt like he broke free of the water, floating on the surface. Finally, he decided to open his eyes.

He wasn't in a pit. It was a room, with weak sunshine filtering in and a soft bed that he was laying on. The whole place stank of golug. He breathed in, tasting life in the air. The last thing he remembered was... being stabbed in the chest, and feeling himself fall. Her words. Cool hands, and cold fire burning through him. But now what? He was obviously in a bed in the lair of the Elves. Why put him in there? Was this their idea of a dungeon? If so, it was better than the best barracks in Isengard. He started as he realized one of the Elves stood at the foot of his bed, staring at him. Surely it had not been there when he woke up! But maybe it had.

He felt a growl come rumbling from his chest, his lips pulling back in a snarl. The Elf watched him with a slight smile on its face, and then raised its hands and spoke.

"Peace, Ashbazg. I will not harm you, nor will I let others. The Lord Elfrond placed your well being in my charge before he left for the Grey Havens. My name is Maedor."

Ashbazg couldn't control his feelings. He wanted to be angry, but the Elf was being nice. Polite and quiet. His hands scrabbled up his chest from where he remembered the knife going into his chest. There was a slim scar there, but the damage should have been worse. That bastard elf that had stabbed him, where was he? Waiting for him.

"The golug-hai that stabbed me. Where's he at?"

Maedor had the grace to look embarrassed, looking down to the ground as the tips of his ears turned red.

"He has been... reprimanded. When he sought to fight against his punishment, Lord Elrond cast him from the grace of the Eldar."

Ash had no idea what any of that meant, other than it sounded like the elf had been punished, and that was enough for him. But where was Gléowyn? Had they hurt her? She should be here. Where was she? He clawed his way from the soft mattress, finding his feet as Maedor grabbed his elbow to steady him. He looked around the room, closing his eyes and breathing deep, his nostrils flaring open as he quested. Her scent was here, but it was old. So very old.

"Where is she at?" He growled, the rumble in his throat mutilating his voice.

Maedor grimaced as he walked Ash to a chair. He reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of parchment. He slowly unfolded the letter, clearing his throat before speaking.

"She left you a letter. Would you like me to read it?"

Numb, Ashbazg nodded. _Left him a letter? Was she gone? Would she come back_? She had promised to get him across the mountains. That's where he was. Across the mountains. He came back to the present as he heard Maedors voice.

* * *

_Ashbazg,_

_I had to leave. I'm sorry, but I had to. I can't stay there. What happened to you... it devastated me. I was unmoving, by your side everyday. The Elves had to force me to eat. Force me to drink, force me to leave your bed to bathe. I'm a shield maiden of Rohan, and I have romantic feelings for an Uruk-Hai. To read the words I have just wrote makes my chest hurt, with equal parts shame and happiness. I love you Ashbazg. I really do. But I cannot look past what you are, and that shames me as much as anything. You do not deserve dealing with someone like me. _

_But I do not know how I can forget you. Even writing this and thinking of leaving you, my heart yearns for you. How can I leave you? But I must. I have to. It's what must be done. But if not..._

_The day I write this letter is the 22 of Hithui. If I can not shake you from my mind, cannot shake you from my heart, I will return for you. If I still lie awake at night, and dream of you, of your voice, and your touch, I will follow through with this. In one years time, I will cross the mountains again, and find you alive and well in Rivendell is my hope. And if you are... I'll put these feelings behind. I'll eat a plant to make me go blind if I have to. But if I do not come in a year..._

_Then my love was not true, and I will not be coming._

_Gléowyn_

* * *

Ash looked at Maedor as he finished the letter. He felt so cold. Like something had locked tight in place over his heart. Like something was gone from this world. The sun even seemed darker now. He rubbed his bare arms with his hands, and looked at the Elf who was looking at him with something akin to sorrow.

"What's is today?"

"It's the 8th of Girithron. You were wounded on the 19th of Hithui, and have slept since then, your body trying to heal your wounds."

Ashbazg put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. He was rusty on times and months, but he knew there was twelve in the year. If this was the month after she had left, he still had eleven to go. What was he going to do for that amount of time? He voiced his concerns to the Elf.

Maedor thought for a moment, tapping one carefully manicured nail against his teeth.

"Are you a hunter or a blacksmith? We always have need of food. Most elves who know metalwork have not the strength for working Iron and Steel, and instead work gold or silver, which will not help us when Iron is needed."

Ashbazg nodded. "I can hunt. Can work a bit of metal, nothing too fancy. But I want to grow things."

Maedor nodded. "I will teach you to grow things, when the seasons are right. We can not grow anything when the snows are on the ground. But we will help you, for the Lord Elrond made it his parting command."

Ashbazg nodded. He still felt so cold. So numb. He felt Maedor pat him on the shoulder, saying he would leave him be for now, but would retrieve him for dinner. When the Elf left, Ashbazg felt the tears start to grow. The pain in his chest was worse than being stabbed. Worse than anything he had ever endured. The Elves left in Rivendell started, some in fear, as the pain filled screams echoed through the buildings. It was not physical pain, but pain of the heart.

* * *

Ash took a deep breath, smiling at the smells of the spring air, glad to be out of the forge for the day. He would never understand Elves. They would even want to put their pretty designs on simple things, like door hinges. They said that even function could be beautiful. His opinion was that functioning was good enough for something he created. It was the month of Gwirith. Seven months left.

He was sure she would be back, would come back to him. He could feel it in his bones. She would come to him, because he was sure she loved him as much as he loved her. Every day without her by his side was a constant ache in his chest. Sometimes, he would catch a scent that reminded him so powerfully of her, it would bring tears to his eyes. Maedor was still here, helping Ash. It was close to the time to plant, and he had promised to teach Ash how to grow things. It excited him, to think that he would make something. Cause it to grow. He grinned as he watched some of the younger elves sing, playing flutes and other stringed instruments.

They had tried to include him in the merry making, but his voice was not suited for it. Too rough, and singing was very hard on his throat. He sung songs at the forge though, simple songs to keep the beat of hammer true. He was content, but he knew he would never be truly happy until she was back here. Back in his arms where she belonged.

* * *

It was the month of Ivanneth, and the harvest was going well. Maedor and Ash worked side by side, great satchels on their sides, as they picked apples from the fruit trees. They worked quietly, trying to finish at least another acre before it became dark. Maedor could see, but since Ash could not, they would pack it in at dusk. There were fewer elves now, but they picked like there were more. They would preserve what was not going to be eaten, just in case the winter was truly horrible. Maedor hummed a song, and Ash would also hum along to familiar bars. Before long, they were finished, and began to walk back to the main part of the stead.

"Maedor. I have a question."

Maedor laughed aloud, the sound like a silver bell. "As you always do my friend. What do you wish to know today? More constellations? Or the pathways to the sea from here? Or something new?"

Ash nodded, a habit he had picked up for when he was deeply thinking. "Why haven't you went West yet?"

Maedor's gait faltered slightly, then he caught up with Ash. "Because... I feel it is not my time. And I still love too much the great trees of this land, the stones, the animals, the very air I breathe. I doubt I will ever go west, unless some great tragedy befalls that that is the only choice that remains to me. Why do you ask?"

Ash shrugged. "Because... you're the only friend I have. Didn't wanna lose you just yet."

Maedor gripped his shoulder, their silence as telling as any words. He would correct Ash on his grammar and speech later. It was something they had been working on, along with him learning his letters.

"Two months Mae. Two months."

* * *

The 22nd of Hithui came and went. Ashbazg stood at the gates of Rivendell, as unmoving as a statue made of stone. Without Maedor, he would have frozen to death. Maedor kept him wrapped in furs to stay warm, and would build a fire at his side and stay with him until night, when only Ash would stand his watch. Food was brought to him, but he never touched it. He burned with a feverish warmth, and was so wasted that he appeared to only be bones and skin. His eyes burned with a cold blue fire as he stared over the road. His hair turned brittle and he began to grow a beard, something he had fastidiously maintained before, and soon he was too weak to stand.

Still he sat, watching the road. No amount of pleading would move him. When he slept, if they moved him inside, they would find him back at his post as soon as he woke up, furious that he had left his watch post. Maedor begged, he pleaded, he tried to bribe. He offered to ride to Rohan himself and bring her back with him. Ashbazg had said no. She must come of her own will, or not at all. Maedor raged, he wept, he attempted to reason. Ashbazg would not be moved. Maedor cursed the stiff necks of men and orc, the only combination that could create such a neck as the one belong to Ash!

Finally, when a strong burst of wind could blow him over, Ashbazg was carried inside. He was simply too weak to fight them anymore. He had finally given up, on the 22nd day of Girithron. He did not have the will anymore, and love would carry him now further.

* * *

She was late! She cursed that storm, that wolf pack that had attacked her, she cursed everything under the sun, including herself. The only thing she didn't curse was Ashbazg. She couldn't think about him right now. About how he must feel, thinking that she had abandoned him. She reached into her pack and began to chew on some of the dried meat she had grabbed from the orcs at the mountain crack. Mal and her mate had been the ones guarding it. After a quick explanation, they had given her as much as they could, and she had left.

Now she was coming to the foot of the pass, and she had many more miles to go. Hopefully, the snow would not be too thick on the ground once she got closer to Rivendell. She was so tired. But she was so close. So very close to the man, orc, Uruk-Hai, whatever he was. It didn't matter. He was whom she loved, and she loved him deeply. She had heard that rough voice in her dreams. The feel of those calloused fingers on her skin in her dreams. She had thought of him every time she had taken a bath in a cold stream, or dyed her hair. Every time she heard a wolf howl, she had thought of him.

She had tried to seek the company of other men, but they all wanted her in a dress and raising children. And none compared to him. They were... brief gusts. Small candle flames, a summer shower that lasted not a moment and left the ground just as dry. How could they compare? He was... a wall of fire, that threatened to engulf the entire plain. A windstorm that threatened to steal her breath and knock her from her feet. He was a thundering wall of rain, that soaked the earth beneath her feet. He would allow her to grow, allow her to flourish, a wild flower that bloomed for nothing but the sheer joy of blooming. All of the others would rather strangle her with their own petty weeds, and wouldn't be happy unless she was limp and weak in their trophy garden.

She felt fierce joy in the thought of claiming him as hers. She would. He would be hers until they couldn't move, until the sheets were so soaked with sweat they had to change them. She would claim him in the forest, where her cries would go unnoticed by all but the birds and bees. She would not allow anything else to take him from her. Her heart knew what it wanted. It wanted him, and him alone, forever. Her body, telling her in dreams and the feeling between her legs when she thought about him, was also telling her that it wanted him. It had just taken a year for her stupid brain to catch up.

She could see the smoke of Rivendell. Could smell it. Could see the gates. She did her best not to break out into a run, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She hadn't put any red in her hair in a couple of weeks, she was dirty, smelly, and sweaty, even in the cold. What would he, or even worse the elves, think of her in this state. Gléowyn started laughing at herself, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. He had seen her road-weary before. He had cleaned and packed the bloody wound in her side. A little dirt on her face was nothing to him. She hoped, anyways.

She felt her feet carrying her faster, a smile coming to her full lips. She hoped he would forgive her. She had said she would return in Hithu, but now it was Narwain. She was three months late, into the start of the new year even. She just hoped and prayed he would forgive her, and would accept her love. If he didn't, it was no fault but her own, but it would still destroy her. If he had found another, she could not blame him, but it would still be the same heart wrenching pain. She shook her head and continued on. The Gods could not be that cruel.

As she crested a small hill before the gates, she noticed a somber celebration going on. A pyre was burning, and the elves stood around it, singing their sad songs in their own tongue. She couldn't see Ashbazg anywhere. None had his girth. There were a couple who could be as tall as he, but none with the broadness that she had come to associate with her Uruk. Her breath caught in her throat. This was a funeral, and she could not see Ash. An elf named Maedor had promised he would care for him! He had promised! But where was Ash?

A sob broke loose as she ran, her feet covering the ground between her and the elves at a terrifying speed. Almost inhuman, something an elf would have trouble matching. She burst into the circle, skidding on the snow and knocking over elves. She stood in front of the pyre, her hands held out in front of her. Was it him? Could it be him? Had he died? Had he killed himself when she hadn't come? She whirled, looking for answers, any answers. And there he stood.

He was so thin. He looked like a corpse. His cheek bones looked like they were about to cut through his skin, and his blue eyes came forth through the dark sockets that they had sunk into. His hair was long and dirty once again, and he had grown a beard. She had not even know that was possible. But it was the same dirty blonde color as the rest of his hair, but it was shaggy and unkempt. He had been sitting on the ground, but he was so shrunken, she doubted she would have recognized him anyways. She ran to him, hitting her knees and sliding into him, her arms wrapped around him so tightly she heard his bones creak. She could feel every sharp edge of him, every backbone and rib. She started crying, her words broken by her sobs.

"Ash I'm so sorry I'm late, please forgive me, I didn't mean to be, please say you forgive me!"

She buried her head into his chest, wanting to be closer to him, wanting to be able to smell his scent on her, wanting him. Nothing more, and she would take nothing less. One of the elves touched his shoulder and he nodded, gathering Gléowyn in his arms as he stood. He was woobly on his feet, and she grabbed him by the waist, holding him up. His rough voice rumbled up from his chest, even deeper than she remembered.

"Come. We must talk."

She walked with him, feeling his warmth even through the furs they both wore. They went inside, up some stairs to the same room she had left him in all those months ago. She helped him sit in one of the comfortable chairs, and then she stepped back. She was scared. Uncertain. She had tackled him like that, and now she didn't know what to do. He hadn't answered her question. He looked so sick. Like he had died, and someone had brought him back. No other option, she started talking.

"I'm so sorry I am late. I was hurt and it made everything later than it should have been, and then I was almost captured by Moria Orcs, and then I was stuck in the mountain pass until I found the crack and Mal was there, and she gave me some food and water, and then I got here, but I have no excuse for being late and I wanted to be here by the time I set so badly but so many things happened and I'm so sorry..."

She stopped, forcing her nervous chatter to stop as she looked at him. He looked so frail. She was so worried and so in love. His face, the face she had hated, was so beautiful to her now. He was so beautiful. His skin didn't look dirty. It looked dusky, and the darker parts looked like rich earth, perfect for growing things in. She found herself staring into his eyes. So beautiful and blue. Like the sky with no clouds in it.

"What are you staring at?"

"Your eyes. I've seen them every single night in my dreams."

Ash just stared at her.

"Why are you here?"

Gléowyn looked at him. Didn't he understand? She was here because she loved him. She had returned to him. For him. Because she loved him.

"I'm here for you. I love you Ashbazg."

The pain across his face broke her heart. She could see his jaw twitching, the muscles under his eye as well.

"I waited for you. A month. I never left the gate. Not until I was too sick to fight them from bringing me in. Maedor... Maedor used magic to heal me. Something like it anyways. Whatever it was, it was too much. He's the one who's out there burning. Because of me. Because stupid tark love."

Gléowyn stared at him. He was so angry with her. She could see it in his eyes. Could hear it in his words.

"I'm sorry Ash. But I needed to do it. I needed to realize what I wanted in life, and what I would refuse to live without."

Hesitantly, she reached out her hand. He didn't move his towards hers, but he didn't move it back either. Finally, she placed her hand in his and tried not to weep with joy when he curled his fingers around it. She moved forward, until she was standing in front of him. With a wry smile on his face, he pulled her down to his lap, where she happily sat, feeling his warmth. She looked at him and thought about it for only a moment before she pressed her lips to his. His lips were so soft. She broke the kiss and looked at him, her cheeks turning red from blushing.

"I had plans, but I don't think they'll work in your current state."

She stopped his words with another kiss, her hands reaching up to cup his face. When she did, she trailed a finger up his neck and his ear, wanting to feel the sharp point. The result was almost immediate. He shuddered, breaking the kiss, and she could feel him hardening and pressing against her. She looked at him with a smile.

"What just happened?  
"I just... touched your ear. Like this..."

She reached up with both hands and trailed them down from the point of his ears to the lobe. He shook, and she could feel him underneath her, as hard as the rocks of the mountains. Maybe he was up for what she wanted. Needed from him. She kissed him again, and couldn't help the movements of her hips against his own.

"Ash? How strong are you right now?"

He shrugged, too interested in what she was making his body feel to pay attention. She kissed him again, and then stood up, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him to the bed. His arms wrapped around her, and she wanted to be unclothed now. But him first. She wanted to feel his skin under her hands, wanted to bite and taste him. His robe was easy enough to take off, and the loose pants under it were pushed to his knees and she would leave them there. He was attempting to undo the buckles and straps, and the mounting growl seemed to say he was becoming frustrated. Gléowyn pulled back from kissing down his chest, a laugh on her lips as she quickly undid the buckles and pulled the straps loose, dropping the armor over the side of the bed onto the floor. Her furs and wool underclothes followed as well.

She could see the widening of his eyes and the fluttering of his nostrils. Could he smell that too? Her desire? She trailed her hands down his body watching the muscles twitch under her fingertips as she reached his manhood. It was big, just like the rest of him. The skin was slightly lighter than the rest of his body, but when she pulled the skin back, his head was black. He was so excited already that a small drop of milky fluid stood out proudly on the end, and Gléowyn lowered her head and flicked her tongue across it. He tasted... it was strange. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't exactly the finest spring water either. She pulled on it, twisting and turning, and she watched as his clawed fingers found her womanhood. The thrill of the danger from his claws was its own excitement.

Ashbazg didn't know what he was doing, but she didn't care. He was touching her and that was what she wanted. And she wanted him, inside her, now. She pushed at his shoulders until he was laying flat on the bed. Crouching over him, she slowly worked and lowered her way down, feeling his manhood fill her up. He moaned the moment she took him inside, and when she rested her body against his, him fully inside her, he kissed her. She could feel him moving his hips, wanting movement.

"Ash. Let me control it. You'll spend fast, and you've been sick. Let me control the pace, okay?"

He nodded fervently, desperate for movement. She slowly rolled her hips, watching the look on his face. She began to move up and down, gripping his shaft with her inner walls, watching the sheer bliss on his face as he grabbed her hips. She felt his claws dimple her skin a bit, but no punctures. She lost herself in the rhythm of their bodies, the feeling of him inside her, the waves of pleasure that were rolling through her body. He wasn't her first, but she was his as far as she was concerned, and that made her happy as well. She knew what he had went through in Isengard, but that was

Being the first time, he didn't last long. It was almost comical, the way he froze up, eyes and mouth wide open as his climax crashed over him in a wave. She felt it grow even bigger, if that was possible, as his seed spilled inside her. She sped up her own movements, rolling her hips and feeling her own release mounting in her. When she finally found it, she collapsed on his chest, breathing slowly and deeply. He ran his hands up her back, his claws thrilling her tingling nerves as they softly scratched on her back.

"Are you going to leave me again?"

"No Ashbazg. I am never going to leave you, until the day I pass into the Vale or you do. And I will be waiting there for you if I go first."

"I'll wait for you too Gléowyn. As long as it takes.

* * *

"MAEDOR! GET DOWN FROM THERE!"

"Gléowyn, what's wrong?"

She turned to face her husband, her face red and her hair blowing away from her face in the wind.

"That son of yours is climbing that tree! I can barely see him he's so high up!"

Ash chuckled as he drew his angry wife into his arms, waiting for her to wrap her arms around him and calm down. She huffed into his chest, knowing what he was doing.

"You know our son love. He's just like the elf he was named after, entirely too interested in trees."

The boy in question was swinging down the branches, and hit the ground in front of them, smiling. His blonde hair and blue eyes were bright, and his skin was a light brown when compared to his fathers. His tusks were almost non-existent, but his ears were still pointed. He ran forward with all the excitement of a six year old boy and grabbed his fathers leg.

"Did you see how high I went? Did ya?"

* * *

_**In the Elvish home of Rivendell, where few of that gentle folk remain, lies a burial mound in the style of the Rohirrim. Inside resides the bones of one Uruk-Hai and his love, a shield maiden of Rohan. It is said to be the only place outside of the land of Rohan where the sibmelnyne flower grows, covering the burial site of the two lovers. There children went on into the world to find love of their own, and too have children of their own, and the existence of such a couple passed into the histories, and like all history, was changed and some facts forgotten, but the elves remember. In the West, the spirit of Maedor the Elf remembers, and he tells the tale when he can. When his friend Ashbazg passed into the Vale, Maedor wept. When Gléowyn followed, he wept for joy, knowing they were reunited at last. **_


	11. Alternate Ending

**Uhm. So this kind of cropped up in my brain while writing the final chapter to the story, but I discarded it in favor of the original ending. And now it's hounded my brain, and since it's the only thing I feel like writing now, you get the alternate (and almost original) ending to the Fool and the Huntress. **

* * *

He felt like he was coming out of a great pit. In the darkness of the Isengard again, swimming against the water and steam. Swimming from death. He clawed his way out of the great chasm, feeling the red eyes of Death burning his back. He felt like he broke free of the water, floating on the surface. Finally, he decided to open his eyes.

He wasn't in a pit. It was a room, with weak sunshine filtering in and a soft bed that he was laying on. The whole place stank of golug. He breathed in, tasting life in the air. The last thing he remembered was... being stabbed in the chest, and feeling himself fall. Her words. Cool hands, and cold fire burning through him. But now what? He was obviously in a bed in the lair of the Elves. Why put him in there? Was this their idea of a dungeon? If so, it was better than the best barracks in Isengard. He started as he realized one of the Elves stood at the foot of his bed, staring at him. Surely it had not been there when he woke up! But maybe it had.

He felt a growl come rumbling from his chest, his lips pulling back in a snarl. The Elf watched him with a slight smile on its face, and then raised its hands and spoke.

"Peace, Ashbazg. I will not harm you, nor will I let others. The Lord Elfrond placed your well being in my charge before he left for the Grey Havens. My name is Maedor."

Ashbazg couldn't control his feelings. He wanted to be angry, but the Elf was being nice. Polite and quiet. His hands scrabbled up his chest from where he remembered the knife going into his chest. There was a slim scar there, but the damage should have been worse. That bastard elf that had stabbed him, where was he? Waiting for him.

"The golug-hai that stabbed me. Where's he at?"

Maedor had the grace to look embarrassed, looking down to the ground as the tips of his ears turned red.

"He has been... reprimanded. When he sought to fight against his punishment, Lord Elrond cast him from the grace of the Eldar."

Ash had no idea what any of that meant, other than it sounded like the elf had been punished, and that was enough for him. But where was Gléowyn? Had they hurt her? She should be here. Where was she? He clawed his way from the soft mattress, finding his feet as Maedor grabbed his elbow to steady him. He looked around the room, closing his eyes and breathing deep, his nostrils flaring open as he quested. Her scent was here, but it was old. So very old.

"Where is she at?" He growled, the rumble in his throat mutilating his voice.

Maedor grimaced as he walked Ash to a chair. He reached into his robe and pulled out a piece of parchment. He slowly unfolded the letter, clearing his throat before speaking.

"She left you a letter. Would you like me to read it?"

Numb, Ashbazg nodded. _Left him a letter? Was she gone? Would she come back_? She had promised to get him across the mountains. That's where he was. Across the mountains. He came back to the present as he heard Maedors voice.

* * *

_Ashbazg,_

_I had to leave. I'm sorry, but I had to. I can't stay there. What happened to you... it devastated me. I was unmoving, by your side everyday. The Elves had to force me to eat. Force me to drink, force me to leave your bed to bathe. I'm a shield maiden of Rohan, and I have romantic feelings for an Uruk-Hai. To read the words I have just wrote makes my chest hurt, with equal parts shame and happiness. I love you Ashbazg. I really do. But I cannot look past what you are, and that shames me as much as anything. You do not deserve dealing with someone like me._

_But I do not know how I can forget you. Even writing this and thinking of leaving you, my heart yearns for you. How can I leave you? But I must. I have to. It's what must be done. But if not..._

_The day I write this letter is the 22 of Hithui. If I can not shake you from my mind, cannot shake you from my heart, I will return for you. If I still lie awake at night, and dream of you, of your voice, and your touch, I will follow through with this. In one years time, I will cross the mountains again, and find you alive and well in Rivendell is my hope. And if you are... I'll put these feelings behind. I'll eat a plant to make me go blind if I have to. But if I do not come in a year..._

_Then my love was not true, and I will not be coming._

_Gléowyn_

* * *

Ash looked at Maedor as he finished the letter. He felt so cold. Like something had locked tight in place over his heart. Like something was gone from this world. The sun even seemed darker now. He rubbed his bare arms with his hands, and looked at the Elf who was looking at him with something akin to sorrow.

"What's is today?"

"It's the 8th of Girithron. You were wounded on the 19th of Hithui, and have slept since then, your body trying to heal your wounds."

Ashbazg put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. He was rusty on times and months, but he knew there was twelve in the year. If this was the month after she had left, he still had eleven to go. What was he going to do for that amount of time? He voiced his concerns to the Elf.

Maedor thought for a moment, tapping one carefully manicured nail against his teeth.

"Are you a hunter or a blacksmith? We always have need of food. Most elves who know metalwork have not the strength for working Iron and Steel, and instead work gold or silver, which will not help us when Iron is needed."

Ashbazg nodded. "I can hunt. Can work a bit of metal, nothing too fancy. But I want to grow things."

Maedor nodded. "I will teach you to grow things, when the seasons are right. We can not grow anything when the snows are on the ground. But we will help you, for the Lord Elrond made it his parting command."

Ashbazg nodded. He still felt so cold. So numb. He felt Maedor pat him on the shoulder, saying he would leave him be for now, but would retrieve him for dinner. When the Elf left, Ashbazg felt the tears start to grow. The pain in his chest was worse than being stabbed. Worse than anything he had ever endured. The Elves left in Rivendell started, some in fear, as the pain filled screams echoed through the buildings. It was not physical pain, but pain of the heart.

* * *

Ash took a deep breath, smiling at the smells of the spring air, glad to be out of the forge for the day. He would never understand Elves. They would even want to put their pretty designs on simple things, like door hinges. They said that even function could be beautiful. His opinion was that functioning was good enough for something he created. It was the month of Gwirith. Seven months left.

He was sure she would be back, would come back to him. He could feel it in his bones. She would come to him, because he was sure she loved him as much as he loved her. Every day without her by his side was a constant ache in his chest. Sometimes, he would catch a scent that reminded him so powerfully of her, it would bring tears to his eyes. Maedor was still here, helping Ash. It was close to the time to plant, and he had promised to teach Ash how to grow things. It excited him, to think that he would make something. Cause it to grow. He grinned as he watched some of the younger elves sing, playing flutes and other stringed instruments.

They had tried to include him in the merry making, but his voice was not suited for it. Too rough, and singing was very hard on his throat. He sung songs at the forge though, simple songs to keep the beat of hammer true. He was content, but he knew he would never be truly happy until she was back here. Back in his arms where she belonged. He could feel eyes upon him, and he looked to one of the elves in the circle who he could feel staring at him. It was Maedor. Like it always was. The Elf wanted him to sing, and said he had a fine voice, but Ash always begged him off about how it hurt his vocal chords. Maedor always jokingly said he would rather have him talking than lose his voice for a day. He was a good friend.

* * *

It was the month of Ivanneth, and the harvest was going well. Maedor and Ash worked side by side, great satchels on their sides, as they picked apples from the fruit trees. They worked quietly, trying to finish at least another acre before it became dark. Maedor could see, but since Ash could not, they would pack it in at dusk. There were fewer elves now, but they picked like there were more. They would preserve what was not going to be eaten, just in case the winter was truly horrible. Maedor hummed a song, and Ash would also hum along to familiar bars. Before long, they were finished, and began to walk back to the main part of the stead.

"Maedor. I have a question."

Maedor laughed aloud, the sound like a silver bell. "As you always do my friend. What do you wish to know today? More constellations? Or the pathways to the sea from here? Or something new?"

Ash nodded, a habit he had picked up for when he was deeply thinking. "Why haven't you went West yet?"

Maedor's gait faltered slightly, then he caught up with Ash. "Because... I feel it is not my time. And I still love too much the great trees of this land, the stones, the animals, the very air I breathe. I doubt I will ever go west, unless some great tragedy befalls that that is the only choice that remains to me. There is another reason, ones of unreturned love, but I do not want to bother you with my own problems in that realm. Why do you ask?"

Ash shrugged. "Because... you're the only friend I have. Didn't wanna lose you just yet."

Maedor gripped his shoulder, their silence as telling as any words. He would correct Ash on his grammar and speech later. It was something they had been working on, along with him learning his letters.

"Two months Mae. Two months."

Maedor sighed as he looked at his friend. His eyes took in the strong muscles, the scared skin... he shook his head and continued walking. Fanciful thoughts merely hurt you in the end.

* * *

Maedor hummed to a song as he brought to life a shape on his canvas. His fine brushes showed the scars, the pain, the compassion for something, the love for creating, in his subjects eyes. He stopped humming only to sing as he painted, his soft voice drifting over the quiet twilight of Rivendell, only the birds of the forest making any noise. Some of the Elves stopped, listening to the words, their own hearts aching with the beauty of the song.

"Ú i vethed nâ i onnad. Si boe ú-dhanna. Ae ú-esteli, esteliach nad. Estelio han, estelio han, estelio, estelio han, estelio veleth."*

It was the song of the Evenstar, and many had heard it when she sung it to herself over her love Aragorn. As far as many knew, there was no reason for Maedor to sing the song, other than he wanted to. They grew even quieter, those with loved ones excusing themselves as they went to those they shared their hearts with for company. With a sigh, he placed his las t brush stroke and called the painting finished.

"Is he going to see this one?"

Maedor jumped straight into the air, turning to look at his brother with his heart pounding. Maeglin shrugged at the look on his brothers face.

"Well? Are you going to show him or not?"

"You know I will not."

Maeglin spread his hands, as if to encompass the other paintings. Ten more stood at various parts of the room, and there was no telling how many sketches there were, hidden in Maedors book of parchment. Maedor looked uncomfortable as he looked for a spot to hang his latest painting. As with many other Elves, he had painted for decades, and any Mortal would consider him a master of the art, though he painted merely for the enjoyment. Maeglin watched and shook his head at his brother. They were as different as day and night, Maedor blonde and slight, while Maeglin was dark from his time in the forest as a Ranger, and more muscled from that work as well. Maedor still searched for a spot.

"Here. I'll take the one of me that you did, and you can hang that one in its place."

"Why would I do that? Then you have no where to hang yours..."

Maedor turned and looked at his brother. Maeglin was dressed for a journey, and held his walking staff in one hand. Maedor looked at him, and he knew. Maeglin had mused about going West for some time, but Maedor had never realized that he meant it so soon. He reached out to his brother, and Maeglin touched his fingers to Maedor's.

"It's time Mae. I can't stay here any longer. It's... it's like a sickness. It makes my heart hurt just to breathe the air where I used to love to sit in silence for days. I have to go."

"I will miss you. But... maybe not for long. It's close now. And I may follow you into the West when the time comes."

"Have you tried just talking to him? Telling him?"

Maedor shook his head and sat back down, his fingers tracing the back of his hands.

"You do not understand. The way I feel for him... it is the same as the way he feels for her. There is nothing to be done for it."

"There is always a way brother. But if you follow me, I will look for you on the shores of the West. And if not... We will meet again."

Maedor nodded and stood, hugging his brother to his chest one last time, feeling the corners of his eyes prick with unshed tears. When Maeling left and the house grew dark, Maedor still sat in his chair, surrounded by his paintings. His heart weighed him down, and was filled with pain. No, he would not last much longer. He would most likely go into the West soon as well. And he would take his paintings with him. And he would never see him again except in the stretched canvas and colors.

* * *

"Are you okay Mae?"

The Elf never looked up from the book of papers he was always drawing in.

"No, I'm not. But I will be. When I go West soon."

Ashbazg opened his mouth, but just as quickly closed it. He felt something hurting in his chest again. Just like when she had left. Someone he cared about was leaving him again.

"When are you going?"

"After she returns to you. You will be in good hands, and I will leave."

Ashbazg nodded, grinding his teeth together and feeling the burning at the corner of his eyes of tears. Tears he would not let anyone see. Without a sound, he stood to his feet and walked away. He did not want his friend to go.

Maedor did not look up, but his own tears spotted the page.

* * *

The 22nd of Hithui came and went. Ashbazg stood at the gates of Rivendell, as unmoving as a statue made of stone. Without Maedor, he would have frozen to death. Maedor kept him wrapped in furs to stay warm, and would build a fire at his side and stay with him until night, when only Ash would stand his watch. Food was brought to him, but he never touched it. He burned with a feverish warmth, and was so wasted that he appeared to only be bones and skin. His eyes burned with a cold blue fire as he stared over the road. His hair turned brittle and he began to grow a beard, something he had fastidiously maintained before, and soon he was too weak to stand.

Still he sat, watching the road. No amount of pleading would move him. When he slept, if they moved him inside, they would find him back at his post as soon as he woke up, furious that he had left his watch post. Maedor begged, he pleaded, he tried to bribe. He offered to ride to Rohan himself and bring her back with him. Ashbazg had said no. She must come of her own will, or not at all. Maedor raged, he wept, he attempted to reason. Ashbazg would not be moved. Maedor cursed the stiff necks of men and orc, the only combination that could create such a neck as the one belong to Ash!

Finally, when a strong burst of wind could blow him over, Ashbazg was carried inside. He was simply too weak to fight them anymore. He had finally given up, on the 22nd day of Girithron. He did not have the will anymore, and love would carry him now further. They rushed him inside, where Maedor and a healer stood. Maedor was frantic, wringing his hands as they laid him on the table, the healers removing his clothing as best as they could. Still covered with scars and tattoos, he was so underweight that they could almost see his backbone. Late through the night, the healers did what they could. After hours, they woke Maedor and told him that it was no longer up to them. They had done all that they could, and it was now up to Ashbazg himself to have the will to live. Maedor thanked them and they left. Ashbazg was so thin that even he could lift him, so he carried him up the stairs to Maedors room and laid him in the bed.

"Please Ashbazg. Don't leave me. Please. I can't have you leave me as well. Please stay here. I'm here. For you, no matter what."

His body shook with sobs as he gripped the Uruk-Hai's hand. Slowly, softly at first, he began to sing. His voice broke with his sobs, but he did not care.

"Dannen le  
A ú-erin le regi  
Rang ail le iestannen  
Lû ail le tegin na hen.  
Gwannach o innen ului  
Ú lû erui, ului."**

When there was no response, he held the clawed hands in his own and sang more. His tears fell down his face, twinkling like diamonds in the fire light, only to fall to the dark skin and disappear.

"Anírach únad  
Egor gurth hen  
Han cenin vi chen lín  
Egor ú-erin le devi  
Tellin men achae  
Brennin men anann  
Rago! Ú-erich leithio,  
Ú-erich o nin gwanno."

When there was still no response, he laid his head down on the chest that had once been broad and full of life and cried. It was no use. Without her, he would not fight for life. And without him, Maedor had no reason to live. There had never been any hope really. None that he would ever see Maedor as anything but a friend, but Maedor had still hoped. Still dreamed. The blue eyes that were so lifeless now stared at him from the paintings in his room. All of them Ashbazg. Working at his forge, picking apples, returning with something from the hunt. His face covered the walls where Maedor slept, and his sketch book was full of more pictures of him. Maedor had loved him, in a strange way, love grown from spending time with him, from living close to him, and seeing past his looks to the heart inside. And Ashbazg was a beautiful person inside.

* * *

Days passed, and finally, in the middle of the night, the great heart of the last of the Uruk-Hai stopped beating. An Orc under the Misty Mountains felt a shiver, and he knew a great light had gone from the world, but he did not know what light it was. Only that he would miss it. A flame haired huntress felt a brief tingle at the back of her neck, but she shrugged it off as she pulled the Orcish arrow from her leg and spat onto the body of the Moria Orc. Orcish scalps hung from her belt, numbering more than ten. Her eyes held no regrets. Gone from that damnable Uruk, her heart had hardened, and she was as she had been before she met him. Her mind slammed the doors on those memories shut. It was better for them both.

And in Rivendell, a pyre was lit. Maedor, now grown weak and even skinnier than before, watched it late into the night. He kept it going, until even the bones were gone. Nothing remained of Ashbazg but a light grey ash that Maedor gathered. Some of it went out into the air from the apple orchard, and some more was mixed into the ashes of the forge fires, now grown cold. The final bit were sealed in a small vial that Maedor placed on a chain that he then hung around his neck.

He became like a ghost, walking silently through the great halls as he waited for the snows to go away. No more songs passed from his lips, no bright and needed words of encouragement. His brushes grew dusty and brittle from lack of use, the paper in his sketch book worn from repeated thumbings through it. His eyes were sunken, not longer bright with life, but dull and listless. He barely ate, rarely slept, but finally the snows cleared. The last journey of Maedor the Painter commenced, through forgotten dells and vales and pathways trod only by the soft tread of Elves departing. He never spoke a word, and he walked apart from other Elves making the same journey.

He passed through the Grey Havens, and arrived West. Maeling awaited him, but the smile on his face died when he saw the pain in his brothers eyes. Even the world that he inhabited could not heal his grief, but he started to paint again. His skill was amplified by where he was now, so the figure that he brought to life on canvas seemed to truly be alive. Others spoke ill words of his subject matter, only to be silenced by his brother. Maedor finished his piece, and any who visited his home would see the portrait of Ashbazg the Uruk-Hai, looking at them kindly from the mantelpiece. It was the last painting he ever created.

* * *

*This is not the end...it is the beginning. You cannot falter now. If you don't trust [this], trust nothing this, trust this, trust, Trust this, trust love.

**You have fallen. And I cannot reach you. Every step I willed you on, Every moment I lead you to this. You never left my mind, Not once, not ever.

*** You want nothing more Than this death. I see it in your eye. But I cannot let you We have come too far We have held on too long. Reach! You cannot let go, You cannot leave me.


End file.
